Quite literally, on fire. A rouge summer’s day of 29 degrees planted between the cool, wet days of early autumn – of course the one day I want wear a delicious fur vest. However, if there is one thing I have learnt over the last 22 years, its that I’m extremely (worryingly) willing to suffer if it means looking good. This ‘fit makes it easy to suffer though – if you are overheating, you’re too distracted by the drape of the slip, the texture of the fur, and your sudden resemblance to Florence Welch to notice.
Even with the promise of butt-crack sweat looming in the distance (because let’s be real, winter in Brisbane is just not that hot), every year around mid-March, I find myself drooling over outerwear, trying to rationalise the purchase of a full length fur coat, and forcing myself to wear leather pants. No wonder Australians have all gone to live in the UK, we just want to be able to wear our bloody jeans.