This weekend I received a clothing catalogue in the post from the House of Bruar.
It is amazing how this stuff like this winds up on my doormat. However, I guess I’m not alone. It can’t be just me that has been singled out . BUT what genius, having mysteriously acquired my address and no doubt all kinds of other information based on my age and assumed social demographic, thinks I need to be clothed in at cashmere coat which costs £325 in the sale? Was I selected as part of a careful marketing approach? Did someone at sometime ask me if I owned my own home and what newspapers I buy and deduce that I’d be just the House of Bruar type? Or do these things just get sent randomly? A scatter-gun approach in the hope that if you post enough volume you’ll find a single customer from the 200,000 or so of addresses mailed.
But honestly? If they only knew how unlikely it would be that I’ll be dressing in an ‘exclusive range of fabrics inspired by the beautiful Scottish highlands’ when I live in Cornwall where we love Seasalt clothes inspired by ….well I’ll leave you to guess that one.
This lovely ‘House of Bruar’ tartan, double-breasted, military inspired jacket might be appealing to a rich but dim Texan heiress type married to an ageing whiskey distillery owner and trying to dress for weekend shooting parties where Scottish ‘lairds’ go out to bag themselves a stag or two…
It does nothing for me.
On the other side of the catalogue spectrum, I also regularly receive something called Joe Brown’s. It pegs me as a late teen or twenty-something – ‘fuelled by passion’. Perhaps, if I’d given birth to a daughter (when I was still in my twenties rather than hanging onto my thirties and then having 3 sons) this would be the stuff that she (and I) would wear? I might even be fighting her for the clothes in it in a bid to look as ‘with it’ as my late teen daughter.
I’m left thinking, where do I fit? what kind of catalogue woman am I? Thankfully, I’ve not yet stated to receive the stuff where everything is in pastel shades and have elasticated waists so there is still hope. And I’ve finally passed through my Boden phase and come out completely de-Bodened on the other side. Johnnie has cleverly pegged his clothes at women whose main leisure activity (shopping for clothes) has just been curtailed by having children – the wilderness years. It’s true, in my sleep deprived, milk stained life I really wanted this man to tell me how I could dress to be feminine, bright and beautiful again without having to get off my arse and drag myself (with toddlers) off to the shops. I wore Boden for so long and so much of it that my husband would sing to me: “I’m a Boden girl, in a Boden world…” To the tune: “I’m a Barbie girl…”
Us girls do have a tendency to dress in a similar style to our friendship groups. I confess to discussing clothes in every other breath during my teens – but if I had to sit through and hear myself now I’d have bored my own tits off with the tedious and endless:
“Does it make my bum look BIG?”
And the lies. “No, you look really gorgeous…”
I’ve learnt to draw more subtle clues to see what my pals are wearing and how I will follow suit.
“Nice skirt, Boden?”
That is until we all look the same or have to check if so-and-so if thinking of buying the blue skirt with all the fishes or not before the credit card comes out.
“No, it’s White Stuff, actually.”
And I’m wondering, is White Stuff the right stuff for women of my age and thickening waistline? I think we all being drawn this way as with WS we can kid ourselves that we still look OK. It’s kinda pretty, a relaxed fit and therefore kind to any middle-age female who is still clinging onto to the vain hope that men will still think we look passably young enough to be interesting…