I love velvet.
I always wanted a Weimaraner dog mainly because they look and feel like the most luxurious silver-grey hammered velvet.
I only gave up on my dream of having one when I realized they need 6 hours of running about a day, and chase deer and – long story short - I settled for a pup that looks more like the slut-wool that gathers under the kitchen cabinets but is happy just to trot round the block now and again.
But I still adore velvet in its many forms.
Lustrous crushed velvet, sheer, floating devore velvet, thick pile-on-pile patterned velvet that you can sink into like a warm bath. Colour shimmers and glows in velvet and no other fabric compares to how delightful it is to touch.
Of course these days it can also be hard-wearing and practical – you can buy washable, ironable, uncrushable, neat velvet that repels marks and always look pristine.
But oh, the sheer gorgeousness of velvet that crushes, bruises, reflects the light in a million tiny disturbances in the fabric.
The most beautiful velvet is deeply impractical.
You have to smooth and pamper it like a long-haired Persian cat but just look.
Image credit: Glorious Velvet Sofa