At least my long-time crush, Lawrence Llewleyn-Bowen, while being desperately pedestrian in his getting-ready habits, had the verve to add, "Never turn your back on the power of gin. It has a way of bringing your face alive before walking into a room. It is a prerequisite of my tailoring that there is a little pocket that can contain a vial of gin." How very rock and roll.
Gratuitous photo of lushness, without the beard, of which I am not a fan.
I started to think of blogging about how I get ready in the morning, but since my youngest now walks to school, half the time I don't get ready. By that I mean I wait until he's gone, perhaps deal with mail and social media (cough) before figuring out whether I'm going to work out or just have a shower and find something to wear.
Julian Clary's "How I Get Ready" struck a chord however, (That's the first and last time I'll probably ever have anything in common with a drag queen, by the way.) Not that I "exfoliate, shave and moisturize" every time, but I do Faff. Which is what he also seems to do. "I try things on, and what might look good in the bathroom mirror doesn't look good in the bedroom mirror, so I change my mind a lot. I drive myself mad with it, and there's usually a pile of clothes on the bed while I eventually go back to what I started with." Couldn't have put it better myself.
Even when I plan an outfit days in advance (a rare occurrence), I invariably go to get ready and decide I must have been delusional in the planning phase. Thus beginneth a frantic trying on of co-ordinates. If I wore dresses this would be much less of a problem, but it's usually either the trousers are rubbish or the top. Off comes the offending article, only to be teamed with something that looks even worse. Off comes second offender, and now I have no "vision" of what I want to look like (Not that I'm one who has a different look for different moods or anything.) Half an hour later, I have tried on every stupid, unflattering, (insert random ranty insults here) top with every similarly rubbish bottom, and am now hitting a brick wall. So I root round for the initial "outfit" and go with what I thought looked okay when I was in planning mode rather than hassled, late, and sweary person that I have now become.
Perhaps the strangest bit of prep advice is from singer Sandie Shaw - "If I'm going out I make no effort whatsoever. I am therefore the perfect partner." Um ok, Sandie.
Does anyone have a foolproof method? Anyone?
Here's the whole list, in case I've piqued your interest.