My wardrobe is…varied…um, expansive…and…expressive. My wardrobe is a constant. The foundation upon which my very sense of self is built. An outlet I use to express my individuality……personal style……and also……lies.
Those statements were lies.
My wardrobe is not even one of those things…and my makeup box is even less. It currently consists of a tube of foundation I’ve had for I’d-prefer-not-to-tell-you-how-many-years, and an…well…I started out like there was going to be more than one item. Anyway, I promise you it is nowhere near as bad as certain friends would have you believe. Look, I’m not going to win any style or beauty awards any time soon that’s for damn sure, but if you want to know about comfort…I’m your damn girl.
If you were to listen to certain friends and family members you’d think all I ever wore in life, or to any event ever was skinny jeans, canvas pumps and a roll-neck jumper.
When in actual fact, here’s what I currently have in my wardrobe:
- 4 pairs of jeans (skinny, grey)
- 4 pairs of roll neck jumpers (all the colours of the rainbow blended together to make grey).
- 4 black canvas pumps (I have had for so long, they’ve faded to a wonderful shade of grey).
- Bonus: a set of gym clothes worn once during a brief and optimistic period of self-improvement. Now worn for lounging.
And um…they are basically all I ever wear…in life, or to any…event…ever. Uh-huh. Okay they may have a point.
I just can’t stand being uncomfortable. Not even a little bit. I turn into a whiny, whingy wild-woman in heels – in fact I can tell you exactly the last time I wore heels and a dress. It was May 2015. It was 2pm on a rainy Saturday. I was a bridesmaid for a friend who threatened my life profusely because she disagreed with my idea of acceptable bridal-party attire. Apparently, jeggings and crocs are not it (she turned it into a mantra. Talk about bridezilla am I right?!).
Where was I? Oh yes, I can’t stand being uncomfortable, and also, I’m a lazy as f*ck – especially when it comes to makeup. If you’re like me, you’ll understand the following:
There are no heels in the world worth the blisters: I don’t think I need to elaborate. But I will. Teetering along the high street with a pair of blister-inducing heels is not my idea of fun. I tried once, but then my toes nearly fell off and the shoes went into the bin (before I remembered they were borrowed…and I had to fish them back out. That was undignified. The owner refused to accept they lent them to me in that state. She won’t let me borrow anything anymore. Pah). Also, alcohol-induced co-ordination-requiring mandatory dancing at weddings in heels…is never…a good…idea. Flats all the way.
There is no fashionable look which trumps comfort: This…this uh, this doesn’t need explaining. I’m just waiting for the day that onesies become socially acceptable attire in all situations. I mean c’mon, they come in different colours for a reason, right? Black for formal-wear, red for adventurous, animal-eared hoodies for when you’re feeling playful…so, why is bedtime the only time you’re really allowed to be comfortable? I refuse to accept this.
Flats are totally occasion ready: I love canvas pumps but there are some feet-hating people out there who reject the notion that flat shoes are totally occasion ready. I mean, I get it if they are like…neon orange with skulls and bones on the side (I’m from Camden, this is basically our uniform), but if they’re plain and black what’s the damn problem? Even at…a wedding? Or a ‘prestigious’ work event? Comfort equals confidence. Right?! Canvas pumps are working in everyone’s best interests.
My white towels and pillow cases stay white: Yeah. I’m looking at you mascara loving cousin with streaks all over your towels and pillow cases. Yeah.
I’m ready in 10 seconds flat: I like to kid myself and say I’m the next Mark Zuckerberg or Steve Jobs (on account of my near-minimalist wardrobe like they have/had. Google their wardrobes you’ll see what I mean), but in reality, all it means is I get to the bus stop 30 seconds earlier than the next person. But even that’s worth it.
I refuse to partake in painful preening: Like many women, when I was growing up I was told repeatedly that since I was born a girl, I should aspire to be beautiful at all times. Because then I’d get a job, and a husband and everything I want in life would be handed to me on a plate (more lies. ‘And anyway’, I said, ‘what if I don’t want, or need a job or a husband?’ I got no answer, but I did get told off for sass-mouthing). In order to be beautiful, I had to endure discomfort and pain. You know…tight, face-lift emulating hairstyles, crazy hair waxing, blister-inducing heels, and a complex skincare and makeup routine which Neil deGrasse Tyson would struggle to understand. Nope. None of that over here. Wash, moisturise, dress and go. 10 minutes all in.
#OOTD: Have you seen Zoolander (if the answer is no, firstly slap yourself then secondly go watch the movie)? You know the bit with the calendar? Where Derek showcases his Ferrari and Le Tigre looks ‘The calendar was great because it gave people a chance to see a side of my versatility.’…which basically (spoiler alert) looks identical? That’s me with OOTD. Every. Damn. Day. Maybe I should make a calendar?
Any person who attempts a romantic relationship with me knows what they’re getting into from day 1: No awkward surprises or panda eyes at the first sleepover…What you see is what you get. And isn’t that just how it should always be?
I don’t think I’m ever going to get the hang of this. But who knows, I might one day surprise all the people in my life…and buy…um, a blue pair of skinny jeans and super-lash-creating mascara, maybe.