Lost in translation

This is something that my gorgeous and very stylish friend Dionne and I always laugh about. 

Why dont holiday purchases of the sartorial kind ever translate?  Why is it as soon as they touch down on home soil they become the most ridiculous thing imagineable?

(You can't tell me the purchases from your first trip to Asia weren't a complete write off as soon as you hit Kingsford Smith).

Dionne and I have travelled together a lot and have spent many hours trying to convince each other that -  

'Of course that short sheer cheesecloth kaftan with large fish motif from Positano would be fabulous on the beach at home' 

and 

'My God, imagine how amazing you will be at Newcastle races with this royal blue turban with a giant bow from Venice' 

and the thing is we mean it at the time. 

But get it out of it's natural habitat and it transforms into something completely different. 

(Side note- the only thing I've bought home from Italy and kept is 8 kilos)

So having said all that, I'm about to share my worst ever. Kaftan purchased in Morocco and worn in Croatia. Behold:

In my defence I did have sandals on and had to change into converse when a hike was sprung upon me.