THINGS WITHOUT STRAPS
Unless you’re blessed with the androgynous dimensions of a hungry smackhead or pumped up with reinforced plastic, going bra-less is never an option that ends in anything but tears. From watching the old perv on the tube spy a nipple as you reach for the railings or your dress fall down as you wave at the barman for your fifth pint, it’s an ongoing disaster that reminds us never to take the humble sleeve for granted.
Any work gear that doesn’t cover underwear is a waste of time and money, unless your job is body doubling for Rhianna on set while she chills for a bit with a reefer. If you’re lucky enough to see my knickers, it’s not going to be leaving a baking meeting room to grab some air or getting off the 43 bus with a sheer lemon skirt stuck to my left arse cheek carrying three bags of shopping.
They look so comfy from a distance, reeling you in with earthy colours, but don’t be fooled by the sneaky exterior. Feet have never bled more quickly than in a pair of strappy sandals, even the leather, flat ones. And when they’re not slashing your toes or pressing blisters into your soles, one of the flimsy nightmares is bound to get lost or trip you up. These elaborate slippers are for decoration only, not standing still, skipping or walking.
There are very few people that can pull off arse-skimming hotpants in the office and you’re not probably not one of them. Teaming them up with any form of tights is also the peak of pointless as you’ll sweat three times more than sticking with any kind of skirt and unless your boss is a childless loner who looks after the scouts, stay away from the long ones too – you’re not tall enough either.
Neon lime works well in a club at 03.00am when you’re looking for a mate, but unless you’re blessed with butter bronze skin and a job at London Zoo, you’ll look like a demented hippo in that orange silk vest with hot pink pants. Wear pastels if you have to or stay in the shade and stick with black.