No sneakers allowed.
Went to brunch at a place specifically chosen because they serve bloody marys (Dear Breakfast, on Rua das Gaivotas, in Lisbon, you’re doing it right), in red plaid and a torero-style jacket. I paired the high-waisted midi skirt with a tucked in plain red button-up shirt, and a black cropped knit jumper over top.
I do a lot of my procrastination browsing Farfetch. I justify it by telling myself that I’m looking for some things that are missing from my wardrobe: a wide brim black hat. Some knee-high socks. I desperately need a replacement for my worn-out black overcoat.
So after a lot of searching I got none of that and bought another pair of boots instead.
I knew what it looked like when I got it. The friend I was shopping with also knew what it looked like because she told me. Did I listen? Nope. The fabric had a great feel. The relaxed fit was confortable and flattering. I can make it work, I said to myself, no one will notice. You dumb b*tch.