One of the fashion dictums my dear mother adhered to was “Blue and green should never be seen without a colour in-between”. Another was the view that black clothes were only worn by Mediterranean widows – “widows’ weeds”.
And mum was from Melbourne, a city where Henry Ford’s edict on cars “you can have any colour as long as it’s black” pevails with respect to satorial elegance.
These days Sydney also tends to think it’s Melbourne (or London), as a stint on the railway station this morning once more demonstrated.
Except for the rebel in the pink jacket and multi-coloured scarf who apparently refuses to read the memo!