Elegance is Not My Middle Name!
Here’s why
I wasn’t born in Paris, that’s one reason. Or India, where the ladies dress up like wow.
This is about as elegant as it gets. With a burger in hand; a class act, for sure! Flanked by two companions I’ve carefully trimmed out so they aren’t contaminated by being seen so close to a writer of salacious literature.
As a photographer, I can spot elegance, but that doesn’t mean I live that life. I’d rather be practical. It was a cool four-seasons-in-a-day day in a kingdom by the sea, and I dressed the part on an excursion into the interior. This is lunch on the run.
If I have a gold standard of elegance, it’s Paris. Not the glamour models on the catwalks, but the everyday people, dressing stylish out of habit.
Plain and practical clothes, not many in the wardrobe, each carefully chosen for maximum effect.
I’m usually looking more like the rack in the camping goods emporium, to be honest. I’ve taken to wearing micro merino wool with the labels on the outside, because those clothes are so smooth against my skin, warm without bulk, and they dry in a flash when I’m on the road.
One of the happiest days of my life was a few weeks ago, when ALDI put some of these things on sale, and I may have travelled more than the Melbourne…
