...or, Dressing for Doomsday. Take your pick.
Ever since the House Fire Incident, I've been living out of my backpack and out of the homes of various kind people I know. Much like a turtle or a snail, I've taken to carrying essentials (a day's clothing, a toothbrush, for example) in a bundle on my back.
This has forced me to prioritize my wardrobe; a harder task than it at first may appear. Also, a liberating one.
Having spent years in progressive and permissive American schools, I never had to worry about things like uniforms. On my way to school I'd pass hordes of identically kilted and pony-tailed Catholic schoolgirls, and instead of feeling bad for their lack of individuality, I actually felt jealous. Getting dressed in the morning was a chore, and even more so because I had endless options. (If it sounds like I'm an Ottoman pasha complaining about how there's nothing to eat in the pantry, well, try dressing yourself for the brutal world of the American high school social circuit and tell me how you like it)
Appearances are everything. Clothes make the man. No second chance to make a first impression. On Wednesdays, we wear pink. Etc.
My point is, it's possible to spend a lot of time obsessing about what to wear. But once your house has caught fire and you're living out of a bag slightly less spacious than an overnight gym locker, you learn to prioritize. I have discovered exactly how much clothing I actually need in order to get through the week.
And since everyone cares, here it is:
Lots of underwear. I've learned you can never have too much underwear. Does that mean underwear is a good "investment," as the women's magazines are always trying to tell us? Let's be frank, clothing is never an investment, not in the sense that it will one day be worth more than you bought it for (unless, you know, you're buying haute couture gowns by designers who will one day have solo exhibitions at the Met...but that's really the same thing as buying art, and people still aren't sure whether that's a great investment either so don't divest yourself from that mutual fund just yet) However, the return on a great pair of underwear is that one day in the future, you will have underwear. Which is pretty damn valuable.
Two things made out of denim. Why only two? Because the only place you can wear more than two pieces of denim at once is at the rodeo. And that too, only if you're actually lassoing a bull. But also, because denim really does match everything and if your house has burned down, the people at your office might look the other way if every day is casual Friday for a little while. They might. They might not. It depends on your office. Of course, if you work out of your home, then you have nothing to worry about. Literally. You have nothing left.
A handful of T-shirts. How many T-shirts fit in a handful? Why ask me? Do I look like one of those guys at the carnival who'll guess your weight accurately or give you a prize? Open your hand and close it over a pile of T-shirts. Lift. What do you get? That's probably all you need, unless you have freakishly small hands or freakishly large T-shirts.
A black dress. Especially if you are a man, this is invaluable for convincing people that your life is continuing on as normal.
Something you can wear "out." Where? Out, duh. Out where? According to Urban Dictionary (which my office firewall somehow doesn't block), out is "the opposite of in." By applying the principles of logic that I am famous for throughout the newsroom, this means that your "out" clothes should be the opposite of your "in" clothes. I hope that clears everything up for everyone.
So that covers my lessons for the past week: fashion in crisis. Enjoy yourselves. Stay dressed. And remember that just because you're backpacking through life, that doesn't mean you should do shady things like take sponge baths in the bathrooms of expensive restaurants where you plan to skip out on your tab.
Not that I would know.
Ever since the House Fire Incident, I've been living out of my backpack and out of the homes of various kind people I know. Much like a turtle or a snail, I've taken to carrying essentials (a day's clothing, a toothbrush, for example) in a bundle on my back.
This has forced me to prioritize my wardrobe; a harder task than it at first may appear. Also, a liberating one.
Having spent years in progressive and permissive American schools, I never had to worry about things like uniforms. On my way to school I'd pass hordes of identically kilted and pony-tailed Catholic schoolgirls, and instead of feeling bad for their lack of individuality, I actually felt jealous. Getting dressed in the morning was a chore, and even more so because I had endless options. (If it sounds like I'm an Ottoman pasha complaining about how there's nothing to eat in the pantry, well, try dressing yourself for the brutal world of the American high school social circuit and tell me how you like it)
Appearances are everything. Clothes make the man. No second chance to make a first impression. On Wednesdays, we wear pink. Etc.
My point is, it's possible to spend a lot of time obsessing about what to wear. But once your house has caught fire and you're living out of a bag slightly less spacious than an overnight gym locker, you learn to prioritize. I have discovered exactly how much clothing I actually need in order to get through the week.
And since everyone cares, here it is:
Lots of underwear. I've learned you can never have too much underwear. Does that mean underwear is a good "investment," as the women's magazines are always trying to tell us? Let's be frank, clothing is never an investment, not in the sense that it will one day be worth more than you bought it for (unless, you know, you're buying haute couture gowns by designers who will one day have solo exhibitions at the Met...but that's really the same thing as buying art, and people still aren't sure whether that's a great investment either so don't divest yourself from that mutual fund just yet) However, the return on a great pair of underwear is that one day in the future, you will have underwear. Which is pretty damn valuable.
Two things made out of denim. Why only two? Because the only place you can wear more than two pieces of denim at once is at the rodeo. And that too, only if you're actually lassoing a bull. But also, because denim really does match everything and if your house has burned down, the people at your office might look the other way if every day is casual Friday for a little while. They might. They might not. It depends on your office. Of course, if you work out of your home, then you have nothing to worry about. Literally. You have nothing left.
A handful of T-shirts. How many T-shirts fit in a handful? Why ask me? Do I look like one of those guys at the carnival who'll guess your weight accurately or give you a prize? Open your hand and close it over a pile of T-shirts. Lift. What do you get? That's probably all you need, unless you have freakishly small hands or freakishly large T-shirts.
A black dress. Especially if you are a man, this is invaluable for convincing people that your life is continuing on as normal.
Something you can wear "out." Where? Out, duh. Out where? According to Urban Dictionary (which my office firewall somehow doesn't block), out is "the opposite of in." By applying the principles of logic that I am famous for throughout the newsroom, this means that your "out" clothes should be the opposite of your "in" clothes. I hope that clears everything up for everyone.
So that covers my lessons for the past week: fashion in crisis. Enjoy yourselves. Stay dressed. And remember that just because you're backpacking through life, that doesn't mean you should do shady things like take sponge baths in the bathrooms of expensive restaurants where you plan to skip out on your tab.
Not that I would know.
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