Confidence, you see. Matthew had it in magnums. He couldn't have cared a tinker's toss if tossers chose to imagine that he wore the same old garb day-in day-out, whereas little, in my youth, filled me with greater horror than the thought of being spied repeating outfits. Even my surly denim ran a broad tonal gamut - from dry-ice to dirty white, via ash and dove and aqua, all the way down to indigo. I drew the line at black. Black isn't a colour. Black is black. (I want my baby back.)