Since browsing through the official photographs of Isabel Marant’s new collection for H&M, I’ve had grey, boyfriend coats on the mind. Yesterday’s breakfast meeting [I may have had a scone] turned into a venture around the busy city streets, which then turned into an innocent browse, which then fed my burning desire for a new coat, as rows and rows of mannequins were perfectly poised in windows, inviting me in to try on all things oversize and tweed. Walking into H&M fills me with that same giddy excitement as Lucy feels when she steps through the wardrobe into Narnia. It’s my closet wonderland, full of mocha and cream fur, itchy woolly jumpers, the sheerest of shirts, shiny leather trousers and those chunky boots you must wear with calf length, thick socks – ideal for autumnal walks in the park.
However, I’m waiting. I’m waiting for Marant’s collection – the collection I’ve been longing for, for many months. Well, that was until I stepped into Primark to stock up on my 15 denier tights (very sheer, my dear) and there it was – the one. The one that only had one left in my size, the one I can wear with a chunky, cream aron jumper, to protect me from the wintry chill, the one that I could have easier stolen from Emmanuelle Alt’s wardrobe, you know, the one that will make me look utterly French, a Marant girl? And the one that was only a mere twenty-five pounds.
Of course, when Marant’s collection finally hits the shops, I will queue up for the coat of my dreams, but for now, I will continue my fling with the spontaneous one. I’m just far too spoilt for coat choice.