I love Bush not George shirt

Product Description

Because spring I love Bush not George shirt never does arrive, fully formed, on the first day of spring, or the day the clocks go forward, or the spring bank holiday, or at Easter. We get a few days of nice weather and we all go around saying: “Wow, it’s spring – isn’t it lovely?”, and then suddenly it’s back to midwinter. And this keeps happening all the way through April. So at a certain point you have to stop obsessing over the long-range forecast and make a call. Cast your vote for spring. That’s what the floral dress is, really. Like a flag or a football shirt, it is about believing in a dream of the season to come. So Miranda might think us basic, but we are expressing our connection with the natural world through the medium of a midi dress, which is quite different, thank you very much. The best floral dresses are ones that are not wishy-washy. Nobody’s Child is a good place to look, starting with their Pastel Floral Nova Smock Midi Dress (£89). A dark background – have a look at Kitri’s Bridget Black Vine Leaf Print Shirred Maxi Dress (£190) – adds instant sophistication. Large-scale flowers add instant boldness, but a small, precise bud can look chic. I love Albaray’s Sprig Floral Sun Dress (£99) with a custom print based on meadow flowers, each bud suspended on a pristine white backdrop as if caught in a flower press.

I love Bush not George shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

Unisex shirt

Women’s shirt

Longsleeve shirt

Sweater

Hoodie

Fully on the I love Bush not George shirt dress barely covers my chest – I can’t lean, bend or jump without flashing my reflection, and any large steps cause the super-high thigh slit to rise dangerously close to my ass. Standing still, though, I look good: sexy, trendy, youthful. But I quickly discover that the dress is too tight to pull over my head. How did I get in here? I shimmy and curse until I’m able to wrench the dress off me, where it springs back, tauntingly, to its original shape. Laid flat on the floor, the form is like a cartoon body: a perfect hourglass, smooth and dramatically curving. My new Shein clothes lie in a crumpled pile on my living room floor for a week. I can’t figure out what to do with them. Neither garment is particularly wearable, but the hassle of returning the pieces (or donating them, or selling them to a thrift store) seems absurd when they cumulatively cost me less than $15 to begin with. The idea of folding them up and placing them in my dresser alongside my other clothing feels defeating. I think briefly about trying to sew them into something new, but again – the hassle. Mostly I don’t think about them at all. The garments cost so little that I don’t feel pressure to make them fit my wardrobe, or my life. I’ve already forgotten why I wanted these particular clothes in the first place.