Vanity post, I’m afraid. If I could’ve been writing this on Friday evening, I would’ve had plenty to say, as I’m about to spend the day in London, sniffing all the latest scented whatnots and schlepping around for my other latest obsession – the spectacle of spectacles.
I’m terribly tired of my letterbox frames. Once upon a time these were new. Now they’re everywhere, including on Tea Party Palin. Time to move on.
I’ve decided to go for two pairs. The first – well, I’ve got em already. Here’s a rather naughty snap of me wearing em.
I tried these on a couple of weeks ago. And liked them a lot. You know (if you wear glasses) that trying for new frames is hard work. First of all, I’m blind as a bat so only can get a vague impression of how I look in them. Second, most pairs make me shudder for some entirely unknown reason. I’ve got an oval face, which is supposedly just about right for most styles, but lots turn me into the monobrow king, the brain-fried nerd, the pervert who all the local kids have been warned about, or the ageing hipster. I don’t know which is worse. These puppies – well they just felt right. Slightly oversized, but not too much. Tortoiseshell. Simple really.
Tomorrow – Cutler and Gross. I remember going there a long time ago, when my disposable income seemed, well, a little less than it is now (I’m not exactly bling anyway, lemme tell you). I’ll see if anything rings my bell from their main and vintage ranges. And I’ll also be popping to Nicolai and the Haute Parfumerie in Harrods. Any sniffing recommendations that might have passed me by? Most things do these days. Please let me know what I simply must seek out, there or in Liberty or Les Senteurs.
Anyway, Cutler and Gross have stiff competition. I went to the best optometrist (how are they different to opticians, except for the route the word takes to its end?) in Cambridge (England, not Mass., darlings) which is 45 minutes away from my wee country abode. And I steered clear of these horny beauties to begin with because I thought, ‘Nope, they ain’t gonna work.’ But man, I loved em. They had all these gay German architect numbers everywhere, and some of em made me look like a pretty nice gay German architect (and so so light – featherweight – I think the brand was Mykita), but it was the pair next door by another company that held my attention. Horn rims. I never knew. But be honest. Am I self-deluding?
They’re, of course, the most £££ in the store. No surprises there. And they’re dark walnut in colour, not black. A bigger picture does them (though not me!) more justice. My pronounced chin is due to too much laughing from the wonderful assistant in the store – a woman who took my pic in profile too – mugshot style. I was of course being a little silly. The other photos. Well, in the light of post-exploratory reality, they ain’t no cop.
So honestly. Your thoughts. To horn rim, or not horn rim. That is the question.
And perfumes. Always perfumes, you people.