Every few years a strange yellow ball appears in the sky above Ireland. In the olden days (the mid 1990s) we ran away, sore and afrit, convinced the end was nigh. But we are more evolved now, we have travelled to different lands, we have eaten exotic foods known as "Felafels" or "Chorizo" and we know the strange yellow ball to be a faraway star called "The Sun".
Sometimes – although almost never – the Irish sun is bright enough to make our eyes squint, and this should be our cue to fetch the family sunglasses from their vault and let everyone have a go of them. Said sunglasses should be in near-pristine condition due to their lack of use and should endure for hundreds of years.
Sadly, though, sunglasses belong to that disparate group of objects, such as umbrellas, biros, hair bobbles and single socks, that “disappear”. They get left on buses and bar counters, sometimes they simply vanish from pockets or handbags. God knows where they go – to some giant after-party in a glitchy sector of the space-time continuum? But when they’re gone, they’re gone.
Cool and flattering
And that means new ones need to be procured. Which brings me to the cat’s eye sunglasses that are everywhere right now. I am IN LOVE. They are so cool and flattering, having the same effect as flicky eyeliner. And there are a thousand different versions, one for every face and personality.
The black framed versions make a strong, simple statement, whereas tortoiseshell frames imply a little mystery. Red frames give off a "don't mess with me" vibe, while pink-with-polka-dots, say "I'm fun but underestimate me at your peril". Some have delicate wire rims and the colour of the glass varies from black to rose to yellow. Right now, every single retailer seems to be selling them – Asos, River Island, Topshop, Zara . . . You can also get vintage versions on Etsy and Ebay.
I’ve chosen a pink polka-dotted pair, ($9.99 from US brand ZeroUV) and they make me SO HAPPY – sometimes I pretend I’m a beatnik girl meandering through the West Village, in a black polo neck and ankle-length trousers; other times I think I’m driving along the Amalfi Coast, wearing a jaunty neck scarf, a poplin blouse and white Capri pants.
I’m wearing mine whatever the weather, because they won’t be with me for long – soon they will be disappear though a wormhole into that party in hyperspace where, doubtless, they will live a long, loved-up life with a blue biro.
