Sloane Crosley: 'My suede sandals make a mockery of practicality'

Friday 25 March 2011 21:00 EDT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

There are two periods of time during the year – the first weeks of spring being one, early autumn being the other – when all of one's limited-edition clothing can come out of the closet and play.

When I say "limited edition", I do not mean an expensive one-of-a-kind dress or some Louis Vuitton toothbrush holder designed by Banksy. I mean the highly specific seasonal purchases so wildly inconvenient, you can almost hear the designers laughing as they sketch out fleece bikinis and fingerless gloves.

I am the proud owner of a pair of white linen, closed-toed pumps and a pair of strappy sandals made of suede. You heard me: suede. These do not scream "practicality" so much as mock it. Next to the size printed on the box or further down on the "dry-clean only" tags should be a series of dates indicating the ideal wearability for these items: these items have life-spans similar to that of a pot of yogurt.

But to free these fashionable treasures from their boxes and drawers and under-the-bed storage bins is an act that signifies the start of spring. Scrubbing the floors, buying flowers and opening every window in the house doesn't have quite the same psychological impact as putting on a sweater so light and so sleeveless that it says "one stiff breeze and you'll be underdressed".

There is a hubris to the wardrobe of this time, an unreasonable faith that its owners will wake up one day and remember what it's like to wear colour.

Throughout most of the year, we dress like we feel. In spring, we tend to let the clothing itself take the first step – until we realise it's near-impossible to wear a straw hat and be in a pissy mood. This is not to say that things can't go wrong on the textile front in spring – consider mud, rain, people at work functions who gesticulate irresponsibly while holding full glasses of red wine – but this is the risk you took, removing a cream-coloured linen dress from the back of the closet to begin with. It was created expressly for the totally impractical and eminently unrealistic gamble of a fresh start.

Sloane Crosley is the author of 'How Did You Get This Number' (Portobello)

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in