When I pop out for a quick coffee or in a panic because I've run out of some essential supplies I always feel the need to explain my appearance. "I'm working in the studio today" I say or "I forgot...X" as I look down at my paint stained clothes and try not to make eye contact. But not anymore, apparently.
I write this post open-mouthed after perusing Anthropologie's latest arrival of the Painterly Shirt.
Never again shall I shuffle in the queue smiling apologetically. I will stand proud because the clothes maketh the lady. I realise that this shirt holds a lot of memories. Each paint splat tells a story, every ink stain reminds me of the achievements and, let's not call them failures, the...erm, experiments, of the prints and the people who made them.
A lot of good stuff has happened in this shirt.