Although this will make me sound like an utterly ridiculous human (which I am, but I strive not to let people know), I ardently believe that clothes are the key to my happiness. I am not the editor of Vogue. Sadly. I am not a model. Regrettably. And neither am I the type of fashion devourer that would rather eat out of a bin than not be able to afford the latest Manolo Blahniks. (Although, the fact I correctly spelt Manolo Blahnik on my first try does tell you something…) Rather, I am simply addicted to clothes.
It is hard to express, through the power of language alone, just how many items of clothing I own. I don’t think I realised quite the extent of the problem until I moved to uni, along with 7 BIN-LINERS of clothes. And those were just my ‘Premier League’ clothes. The Championship and First Division were very much left festering in the vast expanse of my wardrobe in Essex…
Now, in my third year of uni, nothing has changed. I still wake up opposite a tiny, vintage Ikea wardrobe, various sleeves, shoes, bags and necklaces draped over its handles and peeping out from its many orifices. My chest of drawers has adopted a somewhat casual attitude to its primary function, after two years of being violently stuffed full of jumpers, each drawer gradually giving up on staying fixed into its runners and hanging, exhausted, at various jaunty angles. Judge me if you will, but I will say two things in my defence. 1. I wear absolutely every one of my many, many garments. It's just that the sheer volume of garments results in some only being worn on a biannual basis. 2. I shop in charity shops, go to clothes swaps, customise, alter, make my own clothes entirely and have even been known to acquire jewellery from a gutter on a particularly fortuitous night out. I try and be as ethical as I can when obtaining clothes. Unfortunately this has not rendered me more selective, but rather I have become some sort of hospice for clothes that were otherwise destined for the recycling bin.
‘Why do you own so many clothes?’ I hear you ask/assume you are asking because I want you to. Well reader with perfectly timed questions, because clothes are my cocaine. Life is barely worth living for me unless I have a constant supply. Buying new clothes makes me happy. And I mean genuinely happy, not just superficially.
Small wonder then, that getting dressed is my favourite moment of the day. I do often mentally plan my outfits in advance. And no, not just on days when something specific is happening, any day that I will be coming into contact with people. This is for the sole reason that it is a highly hazardous endeavour to enter my wardrobe without a clear goal. ‘Get in, get clothes, get out’ is an essential mantra for any expedition inside, ever since the Great Clothes Avalanche of 2011 anyway. Since I have been at uni, and as a consequence lived with people unaccustomed to my bizarre outfit concoctions, my sartorial choices have become something of a spectator event for my housemates. A fun game born from this is ‘Summarise the Outfit’.
Here is the Top Ten:
10. ‘Moroccan Immigrant’
9. ‘Maternity Chic’
8. ‘This is England 88, with an Asian Twist’
7. ‘Vampire Hippie’
6. ‘Monochrome Bananarama’
5. ‘Indie Kat Slater’
4. ’80s Ski Instructor’
3. ’70s Kid’s TV Presenter’
2. ‘Comedy Goth’
1. ‘Patchwork Grandad’
Unfortunately, these outfits have not been visually documented and so I will leave the details to your imagination. But the moral of the story is: clothes are fun, and no matter how ridiculous a name your housemates give your outfit, you only have to dress to impress yourself.