Here I am sitting in this same hoodie I’ve been wearing too much recently. I’ve already sung it’s praises on instagram ; the 20 euro ballerina dappled grey flared sleeve beauty I came across on the Zara app as I sat on a pile of pillows on my sofa one Sunday. Most hoodies horrify me, I detest 99% of the text I read on clothing and it seems the majority of hoodies play host to the worst contenders in slogans. If you follow me on snapchat you will be very aware of how linguistically offended I feel by so much of the text brands put on clothes. And should the word ‘bae‘ appear anywhere, in speech, on a shirt or in a text message, I am floored to silence. I hate that word and I will roll my eyes at it’s existence until it disappears. The same reaction can be applied to other equally trite idioms such as ‘good vibes only‘ or ‘spiritual gangster’ or anything including a hashtag or the word, which isn’t a word at all : ‘frow’. I call on every other woman here that appreciates the power of words; I’m sure you agree, to see them being misused and exhausted is a cruel sight. I still have no idea what ‘slay’ means, whenever I see the word, all I can imagine is a painful assassination of some sort, which is also aptly what I envision doing to the person who misuses it. I didn’t spend 3 years and a substantial proportion of my parents’ income in studying the English language to disregard it entirely for trendy speech. I guess I’m getting old and moody about the youth of today, how predictable and how depressing is that? So, to conclude a simple, wordless hoodie is the best kind in my eyes. I like this one a lot. Really, I love words more than anything, so to wear them on my body would be ideal and yet I never find any words on clothes I like. Perhaps I should take this into my own hands and design a capsule t-shirt collection, for the literature-sartorial-sarcasm lover ? Yes, one day. I will do just that. And we can all wear them with books in our hands, rolling our eyes at how sophisticated we are in a sea of basic ‘baes‘. Vogue will devote an entire editorial to the collection, ASOS will want to stock them but I’ll aggressively decline because I’ve eternally impeached them for their terrible ongoing rota of slogan-ed clothing. Genuinely, go take a peek at some of their ‘printed tees’, I promise you will laugh out loud. But don’t go look yet, stay with me here in this fashion design fantasy I’ve fabricated here. The clothing tag will include a poem, probably by Dorothy Parker or Sylvia Plath. I’ll shoot the A/W collection in Paris, ofcourse, naturally and for summer I’d choose various Italian locations like Positano or Lake Como. I’d use models of all sizes with real sized thighs, tall and tiny with messy hair but pretty all the same. Dogs of all kinds too would be included in these hypothetical photoshoots, and perhaps a man in glasses with an uncanny resemblance to Tom Hardy. I’ll send you all an invitation to the launch party, I promise. But no ‘spiritual gangsters‘ or ‘slaying’ allowed, they will be fiercely prohibited in the same way a keen Kardashian might be turned down at the door. No wonder I have no friends in Barcelona, I am absolutely capable of entertaining myself, solitary for hours, and fantasies like this one? They come to me daily. Just yesterday I built up an entire chapter of my life where National Geographic hire me for a year long project; photographing dog shows all over the world; concluding with Annie Leibowitz presenting me with an award in New York for best canine photographer… but I’ll save that story for another day.