There's something about white - or ivory, really - that is very calming. Quiet. I guess it's about purity and youth and innocence, but I think if you take that further its about being uncorrupted, simple, still. White is unfussy in its presentation. There are no bells and whistles, no showy grabs for attention like neon brights or murky, broody black. It is open and inviting and yet still reserved. I remember reading something once about how white could be dangerous. It is so beautiful - it really, really is - but it can also be perilous. It was from an Alexander McCall Smith book, one of the Isabel Dalhousie ones, and I've always remembered it. He has a fantastic turn of phrase, doesn't he? "Come, beckons the white sands, come die upon our fatal shores. And we do." I think the same problem applies to white clothes. They always seem like such a good idea in theory, and then suddenly you've spilt chocolate ice cream all down your front and you're getting all J.Lo and refusing to sit on park benches so as to protect your clothes. White seems so easy and simple and refreshingly unfussy, but once you actually put it on it gets complicated. But still, white seems like a good idea. Yes, I'm still feeling white. Why not?
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