Leather-envy; the very notion of it was, until recently, preposterous in my mind.
Sure, like most of you I have flirted with leather; a jacket dalliance here, a waistcoat romance there – these liaisons always appeared to be a little too dangereuses upon looking in the mirror, leading all inclination to be a leather-clad maverick to be swiftly filed away.
Happy in my leather-free bubble, I watched bondage-clad collections at Marc Jacobs roll out; I looked on as Gaga rolled about like a cow-skin princess; I stood back as vintage shops stocked-up on leather coats to be oh-so-seventies –still, I felt nothing. Content in not looking like an extra from the Matrix, I thought i’d soldier on indefinitely.
Luckilly, fair season starts this coming Monday with Spitalfields [hooray!] and so I shouldn't have to wait too long. Until then, I guess my wax jacket will have to cut it. But know this -my Navajo-ly Grail is out there. Somewhere. And one day, it will be mine.