|A 22-yr old toyboy - the new 'keep warm' accessory!|
Photo by Alan Davidson
We don’t do cold in Ireland. We’d rather talk about it than dress for it. This could prove quite the dilemma if last winter’s ‘Big Freeze’ makes its rumoured comeback. Even Gerald Fleming’s wink looks a bit frosty these days.
This doesn’t please me in the slightest. The idea of sporting a lagging jacket and reinforced rubber boots only copperfastens my belief that Mother Nature can be bested or at best, taught a lesson.
Granted, this abstinence didn’t exactly stand me in good stead last season. My Lanvin ribbon brogues espoused several speed wobbles; one of which sent me kissing pavement like a drunken snow angel. Refusing Puffas and thermals and anything bearing the term ‘thin-sulate’ meant I spent a lot of time inside – a lot.
House arrest does give one time to think however and thus I’m prepared to test drive a few looks should the brass monkeys come out again to play. In fact, I’ve already stocked up on a few basics that could well merge fashion and function.
Cossack hats, shearling hand muffs, fur sleeve gauntlets and mukluks evoke images of Ana Karenina; whereas a headband, jumpsuit and moon boots speak ‘Vail snow bunny’. The question is whether I can pass for a Russian aristocrat or someone who legitimately engages in winter sports. Given my last ski experience involved repeatedly using my instructor as an airbag; I’m thinking Slavic chic might be the one.
My frank friends aren’t so sure. “All you’re missing is the husky-driven sleigh,” laughed one. “You look more like Ivana Trump,” scoffed the other. “Especially with that hand muff; it’s like an anti-gold digging device.” So much for wafting through Stephen’s Green like a tortured heroine. It was time to group.
Inspired, I extracted my ear flap trapper hat and outre fur coat from the wardrobe. “How about this,” I enquired hopefully. “You look like you shot your kill and wore it,” advised a voice from the other room. I was even getting style advice in absentia. I suppose it’s heartening to know my friends had my back even when East Enders is on.
Slightly exasperated, I got changed into my fleece PJs and decided to Slanket up in front of the telly. “Much better,” was the general consensus. Looks like pyjama trend wins again. Time to get cosy; it’s going to be a long winter.