I love nothing more than getting something for nothing.
On a muggy early-summer morning I made my way to London and, feeling particularly brave that day, found myself navigating the mountains of secondhand clothes in the East End Thrift Store. Their pay-per-bagfull policy means that after some persistent rummaging and tactical folding you can walk away with some absolute bargs.
As I wandered from the denim section over to the till, some peacock-like fabric caught my eye. I held the dress up against myself. It was disgusting, yes, but it seemed like a waste, when there was just enough room in my bag to squeeze in another item, to leave it sitting sadly atop a pile of rejected leotards. So I squirrelled it amongst my other findings and proceeded to the cashiers, without the faintest idea of what to do with it.
When I got home I savagely chopped out the shoulder pads and snipped off the arms, raised the waistline and discarded the tacky gold buttons.
It's still disgusting, but maybe a little less than before.
It's just fun to see what a little ole' DIYing can do.
Oh well, I'll just give it to my sister.