It was only a few days ago that I found myself mumbling something or other on the subject of the fickle nature of a woman's love for fashion - not fashion as a whole, mind you. No, no! - my love for fashion has long been and incontestably remains strictly unconditional (as does my love for family, friends, other half... blah blah.) It's more trend-related fashion that I have a bone to pick with (such as double trouble print.) You invest and invest and invest and then BAM, it's next season before you can say 'autumn winter.' Well, a few years ago, a fresh-faced harrem-pant clad 18-year-old fashion-marketing-student-me fell in love with the notion of statement jewellery and morphed into a consequential obsessive-compulsive necklace addict. A few years later and here I am googling 'necklace addicts anonymous' having recently recovered from a bout of non-stop-shoe-buying syndrome, subsequently making the fleeting discovery that I have returned to a new-old obsession. (I suspect my initial introduction would read something like Good afternoon. My name is Anna and I'm a recovering click-to-buy-aholic.)
The objects of my desire? These little - or should I say rather large - stunners from Swarovski. I have been head over heels in love with them from the moment we locked eyes on a shoot just a few short weeks ago; I stared at the crystals, they stared back at me... and I've found myself feeling remarkably giddy at the thought of a future encounter. You see, to me, they're like meals-on-wheels, or a Burger King drive-thru - an express style fix of sorts, if you will. It's like, why walk to Burger King, eat-in and pay extra when you can sit your lazy ass in the car, whizz by, hand over your dosh and park up? Statement necklaces are an instantaneous fix of pleasure in its purest form, only minus the elbow grease.
The devil is in the detail, you see. (Thank goodness for high resolution images.) Why fuss over which pastel chiffon tank to layer over which v-neck staple tee with which floral printed trouser when you could just pick out the first damn thing you see and pair it with something so volume-speaking as the Raphaela necklace? I feel a palpable, decision-making, unanimous nod coming on from your end. Bravo.
Slight discretionary de-brief coming your way from A-Righteous-V over here, though. With a £945 price tag, I surmise that a fair few of you will be - and I mean this figuratively speaking - taking my by the shoulders and shaking the dollar signs out of the windows to my soul. But case in point - my personal collection of meals-on-wheels, or necklaces even, ranges from Topshop to Holly Fulton. My point being that you needn't be married to Roman Abramovic to visit fashion's very own drive-thru. Take it away, Oprah.