No, I'm not talking about being naked, nor am I referring to that famous Rimmel lipstick from the nineties that we all wore with Number 17 "In the Buff" lipliner.
I am referring to what I wore for my birthday drinks this weekend.
The whole outfit revolved around a black and white Zara shirt, that encouraged much posing in front of the black and white stripes in my bathroom, many shouts of "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice" and a few dagger-looks at boys who asked if I'd come straight from the football stadium.
I intended to wear it with my black tailored shorts and some Henry Holland suspender tights, but I couldn't find them in the disaster that is my wardrobe (and when I say wardrobe I mean three wardrobes, across three bedrooms, and a few suitcases full of stuff I forgot I had until I went looking for the shorts. Time for a wardrobe clear out!) so purchased a p-leather skirt from Miss Selfridge (It's been a long time since I shopped in there, let me tell you - everything is so teeny) as a back up plan, but ended up just opting for some black skinny jeans. Standard.
I wore my new shoes from Dune, purchased in the sale reduced from £90 (no way hose!) to £45 (maybe) to £36 (ok) to £28 (MINE!), my minty-green Lulu Guinness bag (more stripes!), a pop of pink lippy and attempted some big hair, which just went flat as soon as I started flinging myself drunkenly around on the dance floor.