Loss of innocence is a regrettable inevitability of getting older. I’m not referring to a Blakeian depiction of ageing, rather one rooted in the very specific scenario of wearing a hat. Or gloves, for that matter. Or, indeed, a scarf. For childhood was the time when we shed such wintry accoutrements, wise with the knowledge that they would only impede our running, jumping and climbing. My mother’s quest to enforce on me such knitted accessories was a lost cause – I would simply not wear that bobble hat. Now, though, I can’t face the bleak midwinter without them. It’s cold and I simply can’t spend any more money on Ubers. So, I’m taking my mum’s advice and wearing hats, scarves and gloves – all at once. This is obviously for practical reasons. But it is also because the high street has some truly jazzy options that even my nine-year-old self wouldn’t have minded wearing.
I’m talking scarves so big they envelop you, cashmere gloves for less than £25, faux-fur collars and leopard print. Lots of leopard print. There are glossy leather gloves, for days when I want to look like a fully functional adult human with a job and fuzzy mittens for days when I just want to regress back to my childhood.
There are even berets, for when I want to look insouciant and French. I may not be running, jumping or climbing – unless you count dodging Christmas shoppers among any of those activities – but I will be very happy indeed in my winter layers.