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Senses are dimmed by seasonal switch

Wrapped up in a down jacket and a ski hat, I was bewildered to confront a seersucker ‘Andy Pandy’ jacket among a new collection of spring 09 merchandise already on the rails at Liberty.

Had seersucker been transformed into a winter cloth by some genius technician? No, it was next season come early. Obvious, really - next season invariably follows this season. But it jars: wearing wool in 30-degree heat is repulsive too, but seersucker and snow just don’t go. Still, the seasonal switchover is generally a little clunky.

In stores, witness the clash of Sale rail and new season’s stock. This seasonal transfer hits me worse than jet lag. At the first cold snap last year, I went to the pub dressed as a giant hobbit. I don’t know why and never did it again. It was that dreaded seasonal change that messed with my senses. This year, I costumed
myself like a 1980s Sloane for the day. It’s all very curious.

The other thing to do when the seasons change is reupholster your old favourites. In the past few months, I’ve had shoes, jeans and woollens all rebuilt. Which makes me unbearably smug and green, but so what? The uncomfortable fact is that you can buy a new pair of jeans for the cost of repairing them.

Which at a stroke explains our textile-swollen landfills. And since the factories that make most of our clothing are thousands of miles away, the chance of getting something fixed by the manufacturer is somewhat remote. So I’m grateful for the local dry cleaner that sews my clothes back together. And hell, people pay a premium for vintage treatments. My denims now have bespoke ageing effects and it’s only cost me a decade.

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