I'll be the one with the red carnation in my buttonhole

A while ago I stumbled across 'The Considered Ensemble', and it made a pleasant change from the deluge of style images and 'fashion blogs' that will visually swamp you given the slightest opportunity. I think the ability to describe with words is slowly fading to black in such a snap happy digital photography world. Descriptive writing is like telling a story to someone without feeling the need to say 'Oh, I guess you had to be there' at the end of it. I thought I would try my hand at this, for being in Sweden I feel like I am beginning to be caught in a slipstream, with an inability to write naturally or explain myself verbosely in English, as if my efforts to learn another language are drowning the one I already know. The English words not on heavy rotation are starting to transform into memories resting on the tip of my tongue.

Recently whenever I have washed my hair, I have taken to french plaiting it whilst wet and letting it dry throughout the day. When I undo them my naturally thick and rather unruly hair becomes a bundle of slightly frizzy, crimped waves, emphasizing the length, the ends having finally achieved a march down below my shoulders. With my overgrown fringe now obscuring my eyes, I pin it back on either side with tortise-shell slides. Realising that all my hair accessories are tortise shell, at the moment my hair is folded and pinned at the nape of my neck with a large tortise-shell barrette.
I am wearing a longsleeved floral-lace top, bought at the North Shore Save Mart while still in high school. I'm not sure if the Save Mart even still exists. I find it funny that I bought this top way back then and now with its cream, lace and scalloped edges, is rubbing shoulders with the apparel 'in-crowd'. I wear it over the top of my deceased nana's petticoat, for that lace on lace effect.
The top is tucked into a high waisted full vertical striped skirt, falling just on the knee and grazing the lace from the petticoat peeping out beneath. The skirt is a needle cord corduroy and the muted tones of the three alternating grey stripes offsets the cream lace accordingly. This was bought Search and Destroy (I can never for the life of me remember the new name) just before I left for Sweden.
Black stockings and ballet flats with a twist of brogue in them complete the ensemble for now, as I haven't decided what coat to wear. Outside a grey palette reflects the three shades of my skirt and with this rather bleak outlook I look forward to heading to På Besök soon for Don't Die On My Doorstep and a classy beer.