Hamilton, Waikato, New Zealand
My Nana was an impeccable seamstress who used to sew me
natty corduroy, trouser suits and frilly, layered skirts. Of
course, I was delighted with the admiration these clothes
fetched from family and friends.
I remember that gorgeous, young hairdresser who used to
carefully thread copper and gold highlights through my hair
in my twenties. At the end of my appointment, I left his
salon feeling like the cover girl from Vogue.
In the fullness of an Autumn evening, I consider whether
dressing with more femininity might soften an independent
streak, make me feel more assured, more alive somehow.
Tonight, I feel keen to make changes. I visualize the
beautiful, long, blond curls of Trelisse Cooper, and think
on copper leaves
the cat chases a string