I am aware that I have a rapidly approaching sell-by date for my harem pants and an even faster-shrinking audience for them, so I am whipping them out every opportunity I get. Went for goodbye drinks in Hogan’s on Saturday last, which was distinctly empty, considering the Leinster Victory. I donned the denim version with my black shoe boots from Penny’s, an ‘I love New York’ t-shirt (from New York, would you belive…), a black Peter O’Brien blazer I nabbed for €20 nigh-on three years ago, a Russian-war inspired broach I got in a flea market in Argentina, a chained and quilted black handbag I got in a charity shop for €2 and my cocktail ring (Tui, Naas, €30).  And the crowning glory – full-on, acid blue nails. My younger sister had a bottle and I was drawn to it on account of it’s naff, brash, in-your-face youthful arrogance. On the night itself, I got a few looks, not all good – men particularly hate the harems, most likely for the lack of cheek and leg display, but I got a few compliments also.  Unfortunately, only have a good snap of my top half…

 

Friends of Harem

Friends of Harem

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