THE TIGHTS

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I have a love/hate relationship with hosiery.

I dislike the way they look with certain styles. I hate it when they snag on your way into work. I find it intolerable when you arrive home to find them down by your knees. I really don’t like it when people ruin a perfectly good outfit with them. I hate that only a size large in Primark fits me properly. And I despair when people wear coloured ones.

It has to be said, however, that the positives far outweigh the negatives when it comes to these skin-tight accessories.

They are my reliable go-to on a weekday morning in the depths of winter and something I pine for, come May, when the weather is no longer cool enough to pull them on. They are the key to wearing dresses when my legs are too pale to expose to unsuspecting commuters. They are the answer to those ‘what to wear’ dilemmas when I’ve woken up later than I should’ve for work. They make miniskirts wearable and, Christ on a stick, let’s hear it for the options: from fishnets, polka dots and patterned tights to your standard pair of black, 80 deniers (never nude) for those days when you just need a bit of cover from the cold. Tights? I’m not sure what I’d do (or wear) without them.

It might seem strange to love something so trivial but when you hate your legs as abhorrently as me, tights become your best friend, autumn/winter your favourite season and an organised hosiery section more heavenly than a well-stocked gin bar.

Here’s to tights, in all their non-nude forms.

You the bomb.

 

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