ACCESSORIES OBSESSION

Lives are measured out in myriad different units: Love affairs, holidays, kilos, house moves, babies, careers, lipstick, haircuts. So what if we were to think about accessories? How you gild your lily surely reflects how you see your place in the world --- FINANCIALLY, PHYSICALLY, SOCIALLY, PROFESSIONALLY.

Perhaps if you are shoe and handbag mad there is method in the accessory madness. Perhaps you buy as investment. Maybe you "collect". But if, like me, you flail through life without much of an agenda, then hindsight throws up all sorts of comfortable truths. It seems, looking back, that sometimes I really was wearing my heart on my arm. Or my feet.

My early 16's were my wilderness years, when I was jolted from projects to projects and failed romance to even more failed romance --- and my shoes and bags were tellingly disposable. My smart shoes were from Zara, and I bought vintage handbags at markets and carried them all year round.

As I drifted towards 22 my heart lifted a little and my finances bloomed to allow for the odd proper shop. I astounded myself by spending 700€ on Designer bag, which I held in the crook of my arm like a weapon, logo facing outwards. I was a little more chubby than I am now and this monolith of a bag made me feel petite in the same way that a big boyfriend can.

An late Ugg adopter, I would wear tanned Ugg boots walking through the city to work, imagining that my scruffy footwear made me look influential. It truly did not. "But I have to say they are super warm, while the sheep is licking my Big Toe" thats my inside joke with Uggs.

But the Alexander McQueen black specs with the logo on the side- Im in LOVE. And truly I get so many compliments-especially from men when I'm wearing them. So that is just as it should be.

As I grew up I started to work harder, and this coincided with an obsession with the ballet pump, for which my poor bunions feet are still paying the price. Wedges were my friend for parties because these were my late-night-tall-boyfriend years and I could't walk in anything else. They were a bit Princess Margaret-y. But then, so was I.

More recently, as 25 has come and gone and I've relaxed, accessories find me, I don't find them. I pick up Specs when I travel. I live in Jeffrey Campbell leather ankle boots, high enough to be taken seriously, low enough to wear dawn 'til dusk; and Karl Lagerfield Knit jumper and flats because they are so simple and so comfortable. Comfort is the thing. Or I am unbearable to be around.

I used to have a Golden Rule: rather waist or legs or tent Wide lines. Now it's comfort factor: rather stupid Miu Miu platform sandals that I could fall off or a teeny miniature bag that holds nothing and means I have to stuff my keys in my bra and can't carry a hairbrush. So its either actual comfort with a sensible heel or emotional comfort with a bag that lets me lug around a full contingency plan. Both? That way madness lies.

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