When I slip into this red leather, everything changes.
It’s not just an outfit — it’s a ritual. The leather clings to my skin, moving with me, creaking softly like it knows my secrets. The scent hits me first: that rich, unmistakable mix of leather and something slightly sweet, almost animal. It’s primal. Addictive. A second skin with a memory.
I always pair it with my favourite perfume — Le Baiser du Dragon by Cartier. Its top notes of bitter almond, neroli, and gardenia blend seamlessly with the leather’s aroma, creating a scent that’s both fierce and feminine. As it settles, hints of dark chocolate, patchouli, and vetiver emerge, enveloping me in a warm, sensual embrace.
The gloves slide on like silk made of steel. The collar kisses my neck with just enough defiance. Every detail of this coat feels deliberate — sculpted, not stitched. It doesn’t just make me feel beautiful. It makes me feel dangerous.
I don’t wear red leather to play nice. I wear it when I want to feel untouchable. Untamed. Myself.
Some people put on makeup to hide. I paint my face to declare something — with sharp green shadow, flicked liner, and those deep blood-red lips. It’s not a mask. It’s a battle cry.
Red leather doesn’t whisper. It purrs. It growls. It dares.
And so do I.
Dada
