Kate Elise vs The World, Part 6: An ode to the robe

It’s story time!

So, I am one of those obsessively organised people and I hate having loads of photos on my phone. I prefer plugging my little rose gold baby into my laptop and only keeping a few important ones on my phone. Well, this week I was looking back through the lucky ones that got the okay-2-stay and came across this bad boy:

That’s me on the left, hi.

You might be wondering what’s so special about this photo, just two girls, a bit of vino, probably at a spa weekend or something. Wrong. Here, let story time commence.

Back in March, I left the sunny skies of Madrid and returned to English dreary drizzle. Luckily the plans I had that weekend were brighter than the weather and I jetted off to a castle in Cornwall, you know, as one does. A friend from university was celebrating her 21st birthday by putting us about 20 of us up for the night in a castle, (there were no turrets, I was just as disappointed as you) after spending the zip-lining and bungee jumping, also you know, as one does.

I’m a big adrenaline junky and although I’m scared of everything, and I mean everything, for some reason I really like heights. So, the action-packed day combined with the fact I had the chance to see a bunch of my uni friends that I hadn’t seen in month on account of moving to Spain and whatnot. The day was fab and tired out but pumped on the adrenaline, we excitedly made our way to the castle that was to be her home for the night. We had our chosen bedroom buddy and made our way through the rabbit warren of a building to our chambers. Upon entering the room, there were a number of items placed on the bed. The first was a chocolate lolly in the shape of a 21. Obviously, that disappeared quickly. Remaining on the bed were the two items we really care about in a hotel. TV, great but we’re not really going to stay in the room and binge watch… are we? Mini fridge, well stocked how lovely but also expensive so sorry but it’s a no from me. No, the things we all really can’t wait to get our hands on are the robe and slippers.

Slip on a robe and you automatically become a princess, it’s a fact. You look classy and sophisticated, like you’ve just walked out of a pamper session before changing into your outfit for the evening’s ball, what the look of the evening will be still remaining a secret. You get me, it’s great.

Well, after afternoon tea in the castle (what a sentence) we disappeared off to our chambers to put on our very own outfit for the evening ball (dinner but we can fantasise). Naturally the first thing we did was put on the robes and then lay on the bed scoffing down the packets of shortbread we found by the kettle.

So the night went on. We changed, we make up-ed, we stumbled down the stairs in altitude-sickness-inducing heels, we ate and, of course, we drank.

I’m certain that if you’ve ever felt the effects of alcohol, you’ve probably made one or two bizarre decisions. A friend of mine, when he’s had a little tipple, like to go onto Amazon and buy the most obscure product he can find, which results in a package arriving a few days later containing a thousand pencils or a maternity pillow. Or you might get super enthusiastic about something, perhaps something long and white and comfy and lying on a bed longing to be put to use. Something like a robe.

One girl disappeared off a next thing we know, she’s ditched the fancy black tie getup and has slipped into the next best thing. One by one robes appeared and soon more than half the party were wondering around looking like something out of Real Housewives.

Just having a boogie in my robe.

And so, we wore our robes and the night wore on. Packing up to go home the next day, I did the respectable thing and left robe folded (ish) on the end of the bed and departed with no more than the memories of the soft fluff.

You may wonder why I am sharing this story with you all. Well, it’s to spur you on to find a robe, whether it’s one that you used to wear when you were younger with a groovy chic print on it tucked away in the attic or you make the effort to go out and buy a slightly classier ivory number. Just find one and wear it. I promise you the feelings of luxury, style and sophistication, not to mention the freedom from waistbands and bra straps, will distress and light hearten your day as you swam around with cares forgotten.

This, therefore, is my ode to the robe, my love for the snug, my crown for the dressing gown, dedication to the clothes in the hotel on vacation (reaching a bit here aren’t I). Take my advice and dress not to impress.



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