Unless ‘clothes’ refers to a short sequinned (read ugly) number. Or worse, a my pure-white shirt has a spot of mustard. That’s when humans become a breeze.
I remember when I bought my first pair of boots. I was 21, in London for the first time. And my father bought me these really chic knee-high black boots. From Aldo. And oh, I was in love.
And, like all kinds of love, with it came a new set of anxieties.
What if, I leave my shopping bag somewhere. What if my baggage gets lost in transit? And with it go my boots? What if somebody steps on it – when I am wearing it? What if, it gets fungus? What if it breaks? What if a pigeon shits on it?
And I realised, I share a weird relationship with fashion.
Inanimate, material fashion.
A ‘spontaneous anti-depressant’ in the words of Eugene Hutz, an instant excitement kick or a happiness machine – call it what you may, just the act of putting together fresh combinations from my closet is enough to bring on that sense of achievement. “Oh, why I didn’t I ever put those two together?”
And, the sheer joy on seeing a movie where the star dresses just like you do! Keira Knightley in Begin Again, anyone? Or Emilia Clarke in Me Before you?
So, I wrote a silly poem about clothes.
Here it goes.
They won’t throw a fit if you don’t call them.
They won’t taunt you when you crib.
They won’t leave you for another country.
And they won’t make you feel like you’re shit.
They’ll be there for you when you’re happy.
And they’ll be there for you when you’re low.
They’ll make you feel fabulous,
even when you shed half a kilo.
They’ll bring out your best features
And they’ll notice your new haircut.
They’ll cover-up the extra inches – oh you dark-dark chocolate sundae!
And they’ll show-off all those curves!
Well, folks, that’s all for today. Drink lots of tea, wear lots of dresses, and laugh a lot.