My Glamour magazine the other day came with a free book. In these circumstances you have to ask yourself - why is the book free? After wasting two days of my life reading this piece of literature I realised. The book is free because the book is shit. 'I heart New York' is about everything you might expect it to be about. It involves dating, affairs, and working for a magazine. And shopping. But I somehow found myself reading it voraciously, even hiding away in my room, too ashamed to let anyone see. Maybe I was waiting for it to get good. Maybe I was captivated by the utterly dull writing style. Maybe I wanted to find out if she would choose Tyler or Alex.
I just went on the net-a-porter.com sale, with some insane notion that I might be able to afford something. If there actually something within my price range, I would simply have to buy it. Even if it was made of baby shit:
Even if it was faulty:
Not, however, if it was a poncho.
Personally I prefer my ponchos from The Edinburgh Woolen Mill, which boasts 'luxury cashmere in rainbow colours.' And this beauty of a polo neck: