So I've got a white coat. I like it, I really do. But it's very white. I'd take a picture but I'm pretty shite at taking pictures, despite having what fashion folks call an eye (an eye is one of those things you never know you have until you start working in fashion, where outlandish phrases like this are commonplace). [Update: I took a picture but, as you can see, it's not great].
But what got me thinking about this white coat is figuring out that I've, in essence, come full circle. Let me take you back to the time I was 17. I'd just been to Chicago and got pretty into the oversized hip hop stylings that were popular there. So I came back with a suitcase full of XXXL tracksuits, jumpers and jeans - all of which were ridiculously ostentatious. I'm talking jumpers with huge prints (and when I say prints, there were pretty much cartoon scenes sewn onto the chest), size 38 jeans when my waist was actually a 34 and tracksuits that were so big I couldn't walk without the fabric on each trouser leg brushing against each other.
During this period of my life, which thankfully came well before every moment of one's life was captured on Facebook or cameraphones, We had our sixth form prom. For reasons I can only put down to my inability to fit in anywhere, I decided I was gonna wear a cream suit. My mum tried to dissuade me, but me being the stubborn guy I am, decided this is what I was going to do and that was final. So she reluctantly took me to a tailor to get this suit. I had no idea about cuff lengths and all that jazz at the time so all I could say was 'make it cream'. It was far more Steve Harvey than Mod style in cut, but it was cream, the thing I'd obsessed about the suit being.
I wore it to the prom and stood out like, well, like a 17 year old wearing a cream suit to a prom. But I didn't fit in anyway, so why not do exactly what I wanted?
9 years on and I'm back wearing pieces that get nothing but blank stares and laughs from everyday, regular blokes. And, just like back then, I don't care.