I Couldn't Wear That To Work.

I changed my outfit three times before work on Tuesday.

The first outfit ended with an oversized white blazer. I stood in front of the mirror and immediately realised I looked as though I was heading to a black tie dinner where someone was about to ask me to bid generously during the charity auction. It was beautifully tailored, but entirely the wrong assignment.

The blazer came off. The patent leather jacket went on.

Now we were talking.

High waisted flared trousers, a crisp white shirt, pointed Cuban boots, a Prada bolo tie and just enough diamonds to catch the light. It felt intentional. Polished. Entirely inappropriate if your ambition in life is to blend into the office carpet.

Perfect.

If I was going to spend the day discussing creative campaigns, I'd rather look like I was heading out on a classified mission. Admittedly, my missions rarely involve scaling rooftops. They're far more likely to involve passionately explaining that the campaign needs Schiaparelli shocking pink rather than bubblegum pink. Yes, those conversations really happen.

Some people would probably look at that outfit and say, "I couldn't wear that to work."

It would have been very easy to tell myself the jacket was too much for a normal workday.

Instead, I wore it anyway.

Which made me wonder...

Who decided that?

The mysterious Fashion Rules Committee, presumably.

They're also responsible for convincing us that the good china is for guests, candles should only be lit when company is coming over and beautiful clothes should remain hanging in wardrobes while everyday life makes do with second best.

I've never quite subscribed to their rulings.

There's a fine line between dressing with intention and dressing for attention. I'm all for being noticed, but I'd rather it was because someone quietly thought, "That's a great jacket," than because I'd walked out of the house wearing an electric lime faux snakeskin waistcoat, holographic tartan trousers and a hat that appeared to have lost a disagreement with a craft store. Every piece should know why it's been invited.

I've always believed in putting your best foot forward. Dress as though you're going to meet your worst enemy today. You probably won't, but if you do, you'll be quietly thrilled you wore the good jacket.

Then it struck me.

This isn't really about clothes at all.

At home, we drink from the crystal glasses on an ordinary night. We eat from the good plates because tonight deserves them just as much as Christmas. There's Jo Malone in the bathrooms and Aesop in the kitchen because we're washing our hands several times a day. Or at least I sincerely hope we are.

Every evening I light a candle. Sometimes two. Sometimes they're expensive, sometimes they're from H&M Home and smell far better than they have any right to. The point isn't the price tag. It's the ritual.

I've come to realise these little luxuries aren't really about the objects themselves. They're about the quiet message you send yourself. That you're worth the crystal glass. Worth the beautiful jacket. Worth lighting a candle, sometimes two, before settling in to watch true crime.

It's remarkable what those small acts do for the way you feel about yourself.

We buy these things because we love them, then somehow convince ourselves they're too good to enjoy. The jacket is too nice for work. The crystal is for guests. The candle is for company. The good plates are for Christmas.

Meanwhile, the days that make up most of our lives are expected to make do with second best.

Maybe we've got it backwards.

The little luxuries aren't there to impress other people. They're there to remind us that our own everyday life is worth enjoying. Whether it's a beautifully tailored jacket, your favourite coffee mug, crystal instead of ordinary glasses, a candle burning while you watch true crime or a hand wash that smells just a little more indulgent than it needs to, these aren't rewards to unlock when life becomes special.

They're part of what makes life feel special in the first place.

Wear the good jacket. Light the candle. Drink from the crystal.

Personally, I think everyday life deserves beauty.