Ashbourne Not Excelling Itself.

I was walking past a clothes shop in Ashbourne today, and for some reason chose to look at the window display. I don’t usually look in their window, partly because I rarely buy clothes (except odd essentials like socks, underwear and woolly hats,) and partly because there are no price labels on the merchandise. Such stores are generally suited only to those who are rich enough not care that 98% of the retail price is represented by clear profit because their sole criteria of worth is measured by the extent to which they can impress others of like persuasion. I’ve never belonged to that particular club, and there would be no point in me trying even if I could afford to.

The clothes, however, piqued my curiosity. The female mannequin was wearing a small, cream-coloured skirt of some insubstantial material with little aubergine flowers on it, overtopped by lots of flouncy woolly things. The male counterpart was decked out in red corduroy jeans with a heavily ornate sweater in glorious technicolor.

I had an Aha! moment. Could this be an example of the elusive preppy style so beloved of savvy young things from New York State? I decided to go in and ask.

‘I haven’t come in to buy anything,’ I began.

‘That’s OK,’ said the starchy woman who looked to be in charge.

*Thinks* Is it? How odd. I expect what she really means is ‘I can tell you’re not in here to buy anything from the way you’re dressed.’ But anyway…

‘I was just wondering,’ I continued, ‘whether the stuff you sell is what Americans call preppy.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Ivy League?’

She called an assistant, who said she’d heard it called ‘college.’

‘That’s it,’ said Mrs Starchy, ‘it’s the college look. You know, rugby shirts and things.’

‘Oh right, it probably is preppy then,’ I said by way of closure, even though I still hadn’t a clue. (It’s just that I don’t like ending a conversation without proper closure, even if it is fraudulent.)

The true fact of the matter, or so it appears, is that Ashburnians are no more aware of the preppy style than they are of cronuts. I sometimes wonder whether I’m the only man of the world who lives here. But at least the dear old place got two blog posts today. I don’t think that’s happened before.