For some completely unknown reason, I absolutely love coats. At last count, I have six proper winter coats (including one ski jacket, and one raincoat), two jackets, two blazers, and a pac-a-mac.
I love bundling up in a coat- because I'm quite short, the sleeves are almost always just a little bit too long for me, and I'm able to tuck my hands up inside them, keeping my hands toasty without the need for gloves. (As an aside, I am not really a fan of gloves and mittens. They stop me from getting involved in everything.).
I love how a coat can really compliment an outfit. The reason I have so many is because they all serve a difference purpose- the knee-length grey one is for wearing with dresses to make myself feel ladylike. The burgundy one is for general wear, preferably with stripes. The navy duffle coat/ bomber jacket cross is for rugby matches. And so on and so forth.
|Clearly, coat-wearing makes me deliriously happy. It was bloody freezing that day, if memory serves.|
I love that moment when you put your hands in the pocket of a coat you haven't worn since the previous winter and find hidden treasure. On Tuesday, I found ten pence and the details of three cars I was looking at buying back in the "spring". I'm sure in another coat there's the stub of a rugby ticket, and possibly a forgotten pair of gloves.
I've already bought this winter's coat, but if I hadn't (and had plenty of spare change), I'd be eyeing up this beautiful Joules coat or this one from Great Plains. Despite buying a more casual coat this year, I'm always on the look out for more grown up ones.
Regardless, this weekend, when I venture to the frozen reaches of north-east England, there is no doubt I'm going to be in need of my coat. And I am certainly not displeased to be taking it with me.