Monday, 1 April 2013


...Because I am obsessed.

The original bomber was a boring, basic wardrobe filler. A collegiate staple, normally comprising of an athletic stripe and an oversized A on the left breast. Yawn.

Fast forward to AW12 and bombers were doing all kinds of things they'd never done before. Contrast sleeves, controversial textures and clean lines - not a left-breasted letter in sight. Still, I was yet to be convinced by their boyish charm.

Then, the Topshop sale hit. Chaos and the zombie apocalypse ensued and I left furtively clutching a red, oriental bomber. Unconvinced still, I was aware of it's beauty and but unsure of ability. Was this a throw-on-and-go kind of garment, something that would drape my shoulders without a second thought on the way to lectures, or would I have to put thought into my styling. A bejewelled prom dress for an androgyno-pretty look? Spiked heel ankle boots for that Billy Bad A** swag? Little did I know it would become my sartorial one and only.

I love this jacket so much I wear it in bed. Who doesn't want to feel like a Far Eastern Biker Girl when updating Facebook? Twitter feels so much more fabulous with a touch of mesh sleeve cool. 

It's reached the point where bombers overrule my mind. I beeline for them in shops, I see them everywhere on the streets. I want to own every bomber from plain black to sequin encrusted. Call it an obsession because it's true. I'm a sport jacket maniac.

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