No. 15

There comes a time for each of us when we are sick of it all – the shops, the magazines, everything we own, the hours spent fiddling around with make up and accessories. It’s all a hideous, clamouring mess. But you still have to go out.

Lock yourself in. Lay out freshly laundered plain cotton underwear, black or white, clean jeans, a simple black or grey sweater, a trench coat, shoes which you can just slip on with the jeans. No socks. No jewellery. Maybe your watch. Have a bath. Hot water. No oils, no fancy additions. Scrub yourself thoroughly with a bristle brush and French soap in a simple fragrance - lemon or verveine or milk. Dry down with a clean towel. Put on a cd. Chopin would be best, nocturnes or etudes. But Debussy might do. Or Ravel. Just as long as it is one instrument. This is not the time for a full orchestra doing the works. Dress. Tie your hair back. Look in a mirror but don’t do anything apart from smooth your eyebrows and maybe curl your eyelashes. Put on an old fashioned cream. Nivea or Astral or Ponds. Nothing modern, scientific or expensive. Clean and floss your teeth. Put on some lip balm. Then put on streams of perfume. Anything you really like but keep it simple. And formulated before 1970. Put on your trench coat. You’re ready. Open the door and go.

Cent exercices de mode a Philomene Redfern