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I keep hearing pink is my colour and I keep on pushing back with that because, well, I grew up with three brothers and pink was the enemy in that situation. Pink was what set me apart from the pack. So I ditched it, as quickly as my mother would put me in it. I’d screech and scream and demand to be just like my brothers. Give me neutrals, blues, blacks or greys. Funny thing happens when you grow up like that. When you finally fly away from the nest, the world becomes technicolour. When I moved to London, I immediately went for the brightest clothing available on the shelf. I wanted to shine bright like a diamond. Sorry, Rihanna, I had to rip that one there. Neons were my jam, the bolder the better, but pink felt like a bit of stretch. I embraced it occasionally, but it was still a great stretch to see me wear it confidently. Then a funny thing happened. A switch flipped and pink just became a part of my wardrobe. I have a whole section of the closet now that represents my slow love affair with the skin flattering (yes, I do believe it makes you glow a bit) shade. And then I came across these pink ruffle trousers.
Oh, these pink ruffle trousers. I don’t think they even understand how much they’ll be worn in the coming years. They demand high heels, which is an oddity for me. I usually can’t find anything long enough, so to find something too long is surreal. The moment I ordered them, I knew they’d have to be part of a full pink look, from head to toe. There was no second guessing or changing their destiny. They would be mine and they would take on an important role in future ensembling. So that’s that. Expect to see more of them over time. They are
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