I’ve always been a huge fan of comfortable clothing. As kids, my siblings and I favoured shorts and slippers over everything else, whether you were a boy or girl. Oddly, neither adolescence nor young adulthood altered my preference for shorts and a tank top. They’re simply the most relaxing garment out there.
(I want to take a minute to acknowledge what I refer to as my “lounge dress”. It’s a piece of fabric with curtain-esque print, roughly stitched together and only vaguely suggestive of a dress when worn, as it is completely shapeless and unflattering. For about 15 years, it’s graced my wardrobe, and I’ve no plans to do away with it any time soon. It is often donned when I am ill, on lazy Sundays, or any time general chilling is called for. I just had to mention it here, as all glory was being given to shorts, and this seemed unfair.)
So after two years post-University, playing “proper” dress-up and hating every second of it, imagine my elation when I landed a different job in which I’d be wearing coveralls! Read more about it here.
This week though, I had to fold up my work coveralls for the final time. For nearly six years those comfy, baggy clothes defined me. They aptly represented the sort of person I am: simple and unsophisticated, hardworking, tomboy and such. I was comfortable and at peace wearing them—felt I was being true to myself in them.
However, I believe every individual is a multifaceted continuum of personalities. We only have to find the right attitude for every circumstance. So as that chapter of my life closes, I must also surrender the comfort and familiarity—the sheer me-ness—of my beloved orange onesies. I must substitute them for a blouse and sensible skirt, and channel my inner prim and proper, that my new outer layers might also reflect an alternative me within.
Another phase of life, another uniform to serve it out in.