Call me old-fashioned ...

... but when I pay good money for a garment, I expect not to have to fix it up after a wear or two, let alone before. What's good money? You know what I mean - an item from a non-bottom-end of the market retailer, who instead of charging $20 for a teeshirt, for instance, would charge $40 or $50. And the items in question?
One Kookai dress. Not this exact one but the same snakey fabric.

Mine is longer and has a lower-cut, crossover bodice. I bought it in Melbourne, and wore it for the third time last night, when I noticed, too late to change, that the left sleeve seam had unravelled enough to be noticeable. Obviously, I can't take it back to the Melbourne store, although if I'd bought it here, I would.
Here's what Kookai's website says about quality:

Quality is inherent in every garment. This is demonstrated through the designers' meticulous attention to detail, the use of quality finishes and unique prints which are designed and developed in-house. There is an honesty about every Kookai garment, made using ethically oriented partners.

Huh.
Item two: one pair of Kimberley's stretch pants (sorry, but I refuse to call them ... brace yourself, jeggings, as they did in their Wellington shop).

These, at $179, were more expensive than the dress, and of good quality fabric. Yet the first time I wore them one of the belt loops fell off. Am I going to make a special expedition back to the shop to complain? Of course not, when I can fix it myself in five minutes. But I shouldn't have to, should I.
Item three: one pair Veronica Main pants, differing from the above in that they are more legging-like and fit snugly around the ankle with a zip that extends up to the calf (I can't locate an image). Great for tucking into boots.
The problem? That fit wasn't nearly snug enough, and the zipped portion stuck out in an unsightly way from my ankle. I guess you could say I should have noticed this in the shop and not bought them. And you'd be right. Unfortunately I didn't notice, and had put them on at home to go out before I did. So I've spent an hour or two unpicking and resewing one side of each zip so they tighten at the bottom. They certainly look better now. My mood, however, is considerably worse. 

Hat-trick

Like many people, I've never been able to carry off a hat. Unlike most of them, I keep on trying, spurred on, at this point in my life, by the non-aesthetic benefits of hat-wearing - keeping warm and keeping off the sun.

When younger, I routinely made myself ill in hot places by refusing to sacrifice appearance to health (in the same way that many won't consider warm underwear in cold weather until they're past 35). Monte Alban, near Oaxaca in Mexico, comes to mind. 

I walked around these exposed ruins for several hours under a searing sun, and, not surprisingly, suffered a blinding 24-hour headache. 

Some people look great in hats. Ruth, for instance, who borrowed this one from me only minutes earlier and immediately made it her own.

It was bought for me last century by the X in a Sydney St Vincent de Paul's because I was trapped in the house by blazing heat. I didn't wear it then, I don't wear it now, and yet it goes on waiting for me to do so. 

I have more luck - or is that confidence? - with winter hats. Perhaps because they're markedly less ladylike and I don't feel such a fraud. 

I borrowed this one from E for a winter weekend at the Chateau last year and felt remarkably at home in it (I was, mind you, in love with the person weilding the camera, which probably anaesthetised me against all other sensations). E also gave me a nice wool cloche she bought at considerable expense in London. I don't feel too bad in that, either.
Sun hats, though, continued to elude me.
And then - drumroll - last year in Melbourne I found it - the perfect hat. Because I've spent much of my life in a state of hat denial, I don't know the proper names of various types of hat, so I'd better just give you a picture of this one.

Which doesn't go far towards illustrating how nifty it was in Kookai when I bought it. That's because within a day or so of getting it home I ran it over.
I must have rushed down the path to the car and plonked the hat on the car roof while I got myself and my belongings inside. I didn't notice the hat wasn't among them until I returned an hour or so later and found it flattened on the road. Tragically, it's never been the same since.
I suppose what I like/d about it is that it isn't ladylike. It appeals to the boyish in me. It makes the wearer look jaunty rather than as though she should be bedecked in muslin, carrying a willow basket of cut flowers and brimming with sweetness. 
This hat's other important feature is that it fits me. I have a small head and that, coupled with the usual onslaught of the Wellington wind, means your average-sized brimmed hat is off my head in seconds. This one is soft, rams on tight and stays put. Unlike a similar one, bought a year or so later, also in Melbourne but rather more cheaply. Which means it serves more as a bedroom decoration than a useful piece of headgear.