Comfort and luxury for day and night
Every Sophia Cappola movie I’ve seen – in my vein attempt at a quarter-life cultural education – has left me mildly bewildered in a want for closure (you too?). Even so, the image of Kirsten Dunst as a porcelain-skinned, waif-like Marie Antoinette as she lounged luxuriously in a duck egg blue chaise, and a cloud of her silk and taffeta skirts and rainbow array of pastries and cakes, has always represented ultimate #LifeGoals for yours truly.
But does this not, you may be wondering, conflict with the philosophy of less is more and utilitarian aesthetic of luxe-minimalism that underpins the Beige Renegade world view?
On the contrary, that ostensibly maximalist world of cakes for breakfast and gravity defying hairdos, in certain key facets, mirror the minimalist ideals of comfort and luxury. After all, what is luxury but the luxury of comfort? It’s a comfort of time, to float aimlessly in a wooden row boat on a sunny afternoon; of space, to move at whim through many-chambered palaces; and of indulgence, in every joy-brining enterprise one desires (cake related or otherwise). It is, therefore, self-evident, in my opinion, that luxury and comfort are synonymous.
And what of luxury and comfort in the sartorial stakes? In a time (and place) of socio-economic stability and democratisation of fashion and style, our concept of ‘comfort’ has somehow eroded to a fat pant and thongs (the footwear version!) uniform. It’s as if to say that comfort can only exist behind closed doors, away from prying eyes; only as part of our most unsightly Netflix-and-pizza-on-couch-alter-ego. But this need not, and should not, be so.
Comfort and luxury, for day, can be the high summer cut-off short and luxe t-shirt, elevated by a crimson red velvet watch strap. And for night, a pyjama inspired tailored jumpsuit that one could summersault in, but is, at the same time, sexy (in its insouciance, rather than a flaunting of bare skin).
Location:Perth, Australia | Photography: Self-Portrait