SPLITTING out of your dress mid-dinner is enough to put anyone off peering over the desert menu.
That is, if you haven’t made the garment yourself. If you have, then you’ll know it’s solely down to shoddy workmanship as you try leaving the restaurant without flashing one’s derriere.
The joys of testing out shapes and fabrics on the odd occasion the shackles of motherhood are loosened always feels like an added celebration.
Only to be curtailed when you hear the dreading cracking of your sideseams giving way under pressure of moving flesh.
I’ve been in a monochrome state of mind. All clean lines and figure hugging, resembling a checkerboard second skin.
The materials were pvc and pleather, rather unforgiving textures wrapped so tightly around the body.
As the capsule collection takes baby steps towards show time in August, I’m working blindly on how clothes will look, feel and function using myself as a guinea pig.
The dress was a delight to look at standing upright but attempts at parking my behind had left me nervous as I shuffled out of the flat to celebrate my girlfriend turning 30. Ignoring warning signs was a rookie mistake as I lulled myself into a false sense of security. Bad move, as the Belfast boy had to bundle the baby into the car armed with a spare outfit mid-dinner, making me feel as if I was the worst mother/wife in the city.
It is very early days to be announcing this but I’m just too excited to hold it back from you any longer. Wayne Hemingway’s fabulous Vintage Festival is coming to Glasgow in July and I’ll be doing a wee fashion event at it. I launched my book at this festival three years ago, and let me assure you it will be worth the trip over the M8.
Roll on summer.