This is a blog post about a blog post that I never wrote - there are no pictures because I could never take them. Since last autumn I was waiting for the right moment to write a feature on a local boutique. The windows always had bright, gem coloured dresses styled with pretty jewellery like icing on a perfect cake. I would drive and walk past the shop every week and think, I must contact them and ask about that blog-post. Of course the point of my story is that the shop closed before I had a chance to contact the owner. The stock was all sold off in a jumble sale of scarves and designer frocks. Sad.
My dichotomy is that I love these shops, they make our high-streets look inviting, colourful and somewhere we aspire to spend time. But my reality is that I don't shop in beautiful, expensive, aspirational boutiques. Their stock is like some tantalising VIP, hidden beyond a velvet rope and a burly bodyguard that is my bank account. Instead I cruise designer outlets and second hand stores looking for facsimiles of those designer looks at a fraction of the price. Am I culpable for their demise? Possibly. My life does not include those places as part of its geography. I sometimes wish it did, a bit like Gwyneth Paltrow! But then I know there is more satisfaction to be found in finding a wonderful bargain and knowing our hard-earned money can go further - a sunny holiday, a swing for the garden, a tree to plant to offer shade in the summer. These are the things that memories are made from and not a beautiful designer dress that will hang like a piece of forgotten art in my wardrobe to be saved for a special occasion.
I never save any of my clothes for best...every day should be best.
