Recently Ben and I went to a party and I didn’t have quite the right light sweater to wear over a new top so I threw on a short little black jacket with three quarter length sleeves I’d taken from my grandmother, one she’d made probably around, maybe 1963? The kind that’s so short your shirt sticks way out the bottom, but isn’t quite a bolero either? Something about it looked cute to me, even though it wasn’t my usual look – Ben described it as “arty” – well, a week later I was looking at Vogue magazine and under “must haves” for right now? Short jackets. Just like mine.
I like to point these things out when they happen because, well, they never happen. Well, I'm sure they happen to other people. Me, I think, Hm, maybe Doc Martens aren't so hideous after all, right about the minute no one's wearing them anymore.