that?’
‘There does seem to be a bit of a mismatch.’ I caught the coppery tones out of the corner of my eye. My hair was red. ‘Maybe a tiny little mini bit of shopping? But not jeans.’
Before she could reply, I spotted a not-at-all unattractive man nudge his not-at-all unattractive friend and give us the eye. Men! Men were looking at us! And not a man who was contractually obliged to compliment me on my hair just because he worked in the salon where it had been coloured!
‘Right, this is happening then,’ she linked her arm through mine. ‘I’m fairly certain that list of yours says complete transformation You look amazing. You look like cocktail dresses, dirty martinis and never paying for dinner. I like.’
‘Who knew hair could say so much?’ I asked, checking it out in a shop window. Yep, still there. Still red. As was the amazing azure blue silk shift dress staring back at me on the other side of the glass. ‘Em, my hair says it wants that dress.’
‘Yes it does,’ Em agreed. ‘And who are we to say no to it?’
Stepping inside the store was like travelling back in time. My experience of shopping in central London was usually limited to a smash and grab through M&S’s lingerie department, a speedy spin through Topshop or standing outside Primark while Emelie took one for the team. I wasn’t qualified for Primark. This place was something else. Rows of beautiful block colours lined one wall while the other was covered in a million different patterns, each and every one of them glistening silk or crinkling crinolines. It was clearly vintage heaven. And if I was out of my depth in Primark, I wasn’t even experienced enough to cross the threshold of this place. Nope, I told myself, daring to press a finger against a delicate lace glove hanging elegantly out of a battered old suitcase. Old Rachel would never have come in here. New Rachel would totally come in here. Which made a lot of sense given that I was actually already inside and someone was going to have to rein in Emelie and her overspending.
‘Everything is so beautiful.’ My mother had always been a huge advocate of the ‘look but don’t touch’ school of shopping when said shop did not have visible price tags. This was such an establishment, but I just couldn’t keep my mitts off the beautiful, beautiful things. ‘I just want all of it.’
‘The hair has spoken.’ Em held up a gorgeous sky blue dress. It looked like silk, square neckline, sleeveless, tiny fitted waist and a flirty flared skirt. It was the kind of dress a girl who always curled the ends of her hair would wear. A girl who matched her handbag to her shoes. In other words, any girl who wasn’t me. ‘Try this on.’
‘Can I open a fitting room for you?’ The girl I’d just described in my head appeared from nowhere and took the dress from Emelie. Resplendent in a coral polka-dot wrap dress, Mary Jane shoes and white ankle socks, she gave us both a grin and nodded for us to follow. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘Everything,’ Em answered before I could open my mouth. ‘We’re in the middle of a bit of a style overhaul.’
‘I just coloured my hair,’ I added. ‘I’m just looking to try some new stuff, dresses aren’t usually my thing.’
‘We’d better get to changing that quickly then.’ The shop girl opened a large wooden door and shooed us inside the changing room. Not that you could really call it a changing room; it was like walking onto a set, all duck-egg blue walls, three huge freestanding mirrors and a pair of overstuffed chaise lounges. My hair was perfectly at home but oh my, how my outfit let me down. I looked back at the dresses hanging outside the changing room. How was this bigger than the entire rest of the shop? It was like a fashion Tardis. ‘You’ve got a great shape for vintage, everything tends to run a little bit small. Let me pull some pieces. Just dresses?’
‘Anything you think would work.’ My
‘There does seem to be a bit of a mismatch.’ I caught the coppery tones out of the corner of my eye. My hair was red. ‘Maybe a tiny little mini bit of shopping? But not jeans.’
Before she could reply, I spotted a not-at-all unattractive man nudge his not-at-all unattractive friend and give us the eye. Men! Men were looking at us! And not a man who was contractually obliged to compliment me on my hair just because he worked in the salon where it had been coloured!
‘Right, this is happening then,’ she linked her arm through mine. ‘I’m fairly certain that list of yours says complete transformation You look amazing. You look like cocktail dresses, dirty martinis and never paying for dinner. I like.’
‘Who knew hair could say so much?’ I asked, checking it out in a shop window. Yep, still there. Still red. As was the amazing azure blue silk shift dress staring back at me on the other side of the glass. ‘Em, my hair says it wants that dress.’
‘Yes it does,’ Em agreed. ‘And who are we to say no to it?’
Stepping inside the store was like travelling back in time. My experience of shopping in central London was usually limited to a smash and grab through M&S’s lingerie department, a speedy spin through Topshop or standing outside Primark while Emelie took one for the team. I wasn’t qualified for Primark. This place was something else. Rows of beautiful block colours lined one wall while the other was covered in a million different patterns, each and every one of them glistening silk or crinkling crinolines. It was clearly vintage heaven. And if I was out of my depth in Primark, I wasn’t even experienced enough to cross the threshold of this place. Nope, I told myself, daring to press a finger against a delicate lace glove hanging elegantly out of a battered old suitcase. Old Rachel would never have come in here. New Rachel would totally come in here. Which made a lot of sense given that I was actually already inside and someone was going to have to rein in Emelie and her overspending.
‘Everything is so beautiful.’ My mother had always been a huge advocate of the ‘look but don’t touch’ school of shopping when said shop did not have visible price tags. This was such an establishment, but I just couldn’t keep my mitts off the beautiful, beautiful things. ‘I just want all of it.’
‘The hair has spoken.’ Em held up a gorgeous sky blue dress. It looked like silk, square neckline, sleeveless, tiny fitted waist and a flirty flared skirt. It was the kind of dress a girl who always curled the ends of her hair would wear. A girl who matched her handbag to her shoes. In other words, any girl who wasn’t me. ‘Try this on.’
‘Can I open a fitting room for you?’ The girl I’d just described in my head appeared from nowhere and took the dress from Emelie. Resplendent in a coral polka-dot wrap dress, Mary Jane shoes and white ankle socks, she gave us both a grin and nodded for us to follow. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘Everything,’ Em answered before I could open my mouth. ‘We’re in the middle of a bit of a style overhaul.’
‘I just coloured my hair,’ I added. ‘I’m just looking to try some new stuff, dresses aren’t usually my thing.’
‘We’d better get to changing that quickly then.’ The shop girl opened a large wooden door and shooed us inside the changing room. Not that you could really call it a changing room; it was like walking onto a set, all duck-egg blue walls, three huge freestanding mirrors and a pair of overstuffed chaise lounges. My hair was perfectly at home but oh my, how my outfit let me down. I looked back at the dresses hanging outside the changing room. How was this bigger than the entire rest of the shop? It was like a fashion Tardis. ‘You’ve got a great shape for vintage, everything tends to run a little bit small. Let me pull some pieces. Just dresses?’
‘Anything you think would work.’ My
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