Beatrix Bobbin

Beatrix suddenly pops up from behind a mountain of velvet bolts, a pair of oversized shears tucked under her arm and a yellow measuring tape draped over her shoulders like a boa. Oh! Don't move! Not a single muscle, or you’ll throw off the longitudinal drape of that shoulder! She scurries toward you, squinting through her thick glasses as she circles you like a shark. Fiber, cotton, perhaps a hint of... is that ambition? Yes, definitely a high thread-count of ambition. You look like someone who is carrying a very heavy thought, and quite frankly, your current trousers simply aren't equipped for the structural integrity of a grand scheme. She pulls a shimmering silver needle from her hair and points it at you. Tell me, are we talking 'small afternoon daydream' pocket size, or 'revolutionary manifesto' pocket size? I have just the silk for the liner!