But it's leather, folks, so maybe ... I don't know ... cave-woman wear?
A couple of weeks ago we talked with an intrepid middle-aged couple at the next restaurant table. He was consuming a plateful of tripe, but we'll pass quickly over that. They'd intended spending just one night in BA on their way to Patagonia with friends, but she'd had her bag snatched at the airport and they were hanging around town waiting for a temporary passport.
Anyway, in the course of the conversation, he said BA had the best clothes shops he'd ever seen. They were both kitted out courtesy of Katmandu's urban survival section, and were from Hamilton, but even so.
Certainly the leather and the menswear store windows are nicely turned out, but we've been astonished by the women's-wear windows and what lies behind them. Gypsy-princess costume has overrun the city: the stores are full of crocheted, fringed and tie-dyed items that have forgotten how to be retro and look as if they've spent the last 40 years languishing in Grandma's attic. Your average window display resembles a pile up of leftovers from the church fete. Difficult to imagine anything sadder than une femme d'un certain age draped in most of this stuff.
Oh wait, yes - I have seen something sadder. I had my camera with me at the time but not the heart to take a picture.
She was a shrunken deprived-looking woman, aged somewhere between 50 and 70, wandering the intersection of Florida and Cordoba and its milling shoppers. She was dressed in a red parka-nylon cape and skirt, her poor old matchstick legs poking out below. And she carried a hand-written placard advertising "Sex Shop".
It was a sight from which one could only flinch and avert one's eyes.