Fear and clothing: Oh dear, I’ll never get the hang of ooh la la
A weekly reverie on the vagaries and charms of fashion
I was sitting on a park bench last week shooting the breeze with a dear friend who has taken up residence in Paris. She has been there for more than three years so she knows a thing or two about the French condition.
“I think everyone has swallowed a tapeworm,” I mooted, confident in my theory after observing the thousandth gamine of indiscriminate age sauntering past.
“No,” she said, “I have asked about that and my colleagues have all said it was genes.” She said this very firmly...