‘Fashion is the armour to survive the reality of everyday life’ - Bill Cunningham
A confession: Whenever someone uses the phrase ‘getting back to normal,’ a little wave of anxiety ripples through me.
Though hesitant to reveal my secret, many friends have also disclosed similar emotions, with a multitude of potential causes. For one, after high hopes for 2021 were dashed just days into the year, showing caution to optimism does not seem unjustified. For another, shining the spotlight on ‘returning to normal’ only accentuates the shadows of irreversible change that the pandemic leaves in some people’s lives. Furthermore, after a year of staying home, we’re longing to present our best selves to the world, whilst harbouring feelings of burn-out that not even a pub garden can solve. The success of the vaccine programme in the UK is obviously very positive, but even when our immunity is up to post-corona life, it’s likely our brains will take a little more time to adjust.
Curled up in bed last Sunday morning and suffering a strong case of the aforementioned ‘ripples,’ I decided to distract myself with a much overdue job on my list. Having moved out of my parents’ house and into my little cottage just before lockdown (the first edition), my wardrobe was effectively split between two homes. It was time for a much-needed merger, if only for a reason to get out of bed, which seemed to be getting harder each day.
I hadn’t pre-empted any great significance in the task ahead. We sat on my parents’ patio as my mother paraded various items out of the house, joyously transforming the garden into London Fashion Week. God knows what the neighbours thought. The ripples of anxiety turned to a buzz of excitement when we came across my long-forgotten coats. Colourful, bold and bright, they had been an everyday joy of my university life. In the pocket of the pink one was a hastily-scrawled post-it note, reminding me to return a short-loan library book. I drove home that evening with a car boot full of items, and a sense of optimism for the week ahead.
I’m not a fashionista, at all. Many an iconic trend has passed me by and the generation below now mock the skinny jeans that are a staple of my dress sense. However, I’ve long been attuned to the power of fashion, ever since working in a local chain of ladies’ shoe shops. Slipping their feet into an array of glamorous footwear, our clientele could become surprisingly candid with us sales assistants. They shared painful stories of bankruptcy, bereavement, eating disorders and even domestic abuse. It was clear that fashion was an escape, a therapy and an antidote to the realities that one could not slip off and put back in the wardrobe at the end of the day.
My coats are by no means ‘new.’ In fact, one of them still has a name label from my school days sewn into the collar. Nevertheless, these old favourites have made me feel like a new woman. A face mask now replaces the post-it notes in the pockets, but the confidence lives on, especially when paired with a heeled shoe. I do feel occasional guilt towards this transparent materialism. However, I’ve spent a lot of time recently with my over-anxious thoughts for company, making life-changing decisions and then reversing them a few weeks later. Essentially, indulging in material pleasures while the world recovers from a historic event feels like giving my tired brain a break.
Friends, do not be alarmed if you see me in Sainsbury’s looking a little over-dressed for the fruit and veg aisle. I am calming the ripples, one high-heeled step at a time.
And no, I have not yet chosen an outfit for my vaccine yet. I have, however, already picked out the shoes.
Image by Laura Chouette