Rich Bitch

This week Rich Bitch explains how Prada’s crystal mesh dresses are the perfect bop costume…

Bop catwalk fashion prada Rich Bitch

Dearest darling followers,

Well, as always, my outfits last week were greeted with resounding noises of admiration and acts of emulation. Even my DoS was to be seen wearing a very similar copy of my burnt orange leather chaps. Although unlike mine, his did not feature a crotch. Clearly a Christina Aquilera fan.

However, loyal readers, I am never one to let past successes dwarf my ultimate goals. Indeed, I’ve just added the final touches to this week’s bop outfit. I know, I know, a bop. “What is she thinking?” I hear you all cry. “Bops are attended solely by rugby lads wearing morph-suits and freshers dressed as sexy woodland creatures”…

Sweet readers, you are painfully mistaken. The common bop is to a trendsetter such as myself, as Paris fashion week is to Karl Lagerfeld. Yet another opportunity to showcase to my enraptured peers my obsession for dressing, and my passion for fashion. The theme, “Celebration” is blissfully simple. I can, of course, hear you sighing to yourselves, convinced I will merely slip into one of my vintage Vera Wang wedding gowns and convince my newest boy (a Blues swimmer; I know, so London 2012) to cufflink up and whack on a top hat. But fear not, fans. In the immortal words of the pre-pubescent Hip-Hop star, JoJo, “I’m not that kinda girl”. To date, my most striking bop outfit has been “The Love Child of David Beckham and a Peacock” for November’s British themed extravaganza. Cue an England strip adorned with peacock’s tail feathers. Daddy was nay impressed when he caught me plucking the family pets, poor dear.

This time, I have rejected the obvious "Sexy Bunny" idea, as I gave up wearing baby animals for 2010. Except for mink, of course. After much deliberation, I have decided upon “Chandelier”. The recipe is simple; one of Prada’s yummy new chandelier glass-adorned esh dresses, with a candle headdress. It is a shame that I won’t be able to move (I hate the smell of singed hair), but it’s all in the name of style. And besides, in the immortal words of Eminem, “ I need to be the leader, my crew looks for me to guide ‘em”. I bet you three VK’s that, come tomorrow, John Lewis will be out of candelabras.