Yum, yum, fucking yum. And a yee-haw for good measure. We’re talking embroidered polo shirts from les Briqu’a* braque × Fennica. We’re talking candy store colours. We’re talking stripes. We’re talking hand-stitched wild west motifs.
I’d like to take one of these shirts out for a good time. Treat her like a lady. Steak dinner, bottle of mid-priced wine, cocktails, casino, Premier Inn, the works. Conversation might be one-sided, but the electricity will be real. We’ll both feel it. No point fighting it. We’ll both know the evening will end with mini bar Cointreau, a quick flannel bath and silent but respectful coitus.
Direct your chosen computer system here to clock the goods — and here for the proxy I recently used to buy some sneakers from Fennica. It’s reliable; they arrived quickly; I’ve had them for a couple of weeks. Although sadly the honeymoon period is now over — we argued about the correct elements of a ploughmen’s lunch and are currently not speaking.
These shirts though right… Big square cut, five buttons, hand pockets and a drawcord at the hem — what’s not to like, to love, to marry, to resent, to divorce, to miss.
The price is my only hang-up. You’re looking at the best part of £250 before you even factor in proxy, postage and import duty. I don’t know about you, but I’m not used to paying for affection. Perhaps once we got to know each other, and it was clear my intentions were honourable, the fee would be refunded and I’d feel less like I was wearing a prostitute.