Clad in pounds 665 of Prada jacket, an pounds 89 severe skirt by Joseph and pounds 175 boots from Russell & Bromley, I marched (frog marched?) into the office and suddenly found I had acquired a fresh respect in the eyes of my colleagues. Curiously, they seemed to sit to attention as soon as I spoke to them.
Because I am too small to make the grade as a bellowing sergeant-major, I decided to take full advantage of my new-found authority. After work, I took myself off to a rather elegant hotel restaurant - only to be mistaken for a bell-boy by an American tourist, who tried to tip me.
At the bar, I steeled my resolve with a large scotch. An anxious Slavic barman enquired whether I was Russian, to which I responded with an enigmatic 'Niet'.
But the fact that everyone seemed to be on edge around me was tiring. And I couldn't stop myself behaving in keeping with my clothes. On my way home I was approached by several passers-by who sought directions. Without missing a beat, I pointed these out to them.
By the end the night, I found myself fulfilling the expectations that such a military-style garment creates. I will now be interested to observe whether the clothes with the current hippest designer tags turn the fashion 'in'-crowd into helpful public servants or sinister bullies.
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