Holly White road tests: Polka Dots
I've noticed a theme that wasn't prompted from a list of trends in an article. It was more an accumulation of all things polka-dot catching my eye time and again.
Lately, as I trawled the shops -- all in the name of fashion writer duty, I might add -- I could not help but notice that polka-dot clothing was everywhere, and I absolutely loved it.
There is something incredibly young and sweet about this print and, seeing as I have just turned another year older, I am in search of all things childlike, clinging to my youth as much as possible. I kind of wonder, when am I going to feel grown up? As my recent escapades show, not yet.
One balmy evening, slipping into this cream dress (left) from Mango and pairing it with flat black shoes and a slathering of He-Shi all over my arms and legs, I headed out for a much-needed girls' night out. Eight girls greeted each other politely and, over a very civilised dinner in the Camden Kitchen, discussed work, apartments, savings (surprisingly), the sales and, of course, boyfriends.
Two-and-a-half hours later, it all seemed just a touch mature as some headed off home after dinner.
Once they had departed, I sort of sniffed the air. I could tell something interesting was about to happen. We were now three dressed up, dined, but not quite wined enough ladies. We hopped into a taxi and swung straight on to a heaving, happening Dawson Street.
On entering Samsara, the barman sensed we were up for a bit of mischief and concocted random pink cocktails, which we downed swiftly. Tongues loosened and the conversation started to flow on a far less formal level. Mojitos replaced our empty glasses and we quaffed with enthusiasm.
The night trailed on and we found ourselves in a Leeson Street club. After tumbling down the stairs, I was about to check my coat in when my phone beeped.
"Don't forget we have Amy's birthday tomorrow at 12."
I had totally forgotten about my godchild's party early the following morning. In a brief moment of sobriety, I sort of shuddered at the thought of dancing, screaming children and a sore head colliding.
Then one of the girls reappeared with a bottle of cheap, cheap white wine and an over-filled glass of it for me. Ellie Goulding came on, so I shoved my phone back in my bag and ran away with the rest of the night.
I somehow made it home and was woken by a text saying my lift to the party was 10 minutes away.
Upon opening my still false-eyelashed eye, the room swayed. I felt truly rotten. At the godchild's birthday I sulked in the corner gulping cups of tea and eating their Smarties.
If this is what getting older involves, I truly will never learn. You don't automatically become wiser as you age, you just advance in years -- but at least being childlike can be done in style.