It has happened. I have officially lost all sense of fashion that I may once have had and, in its place, I have developed a strong yearning for clothes that feel like pyjamas but are just about acceptable enough to be seen out in.
I’m not sure if it’s because of age, laziness or being in a relationship, but my taste in clothes has, definitely, taken a turn for the worse. However, I have to admit I never felt so comfortable in my clothes.
When I first moved to Dubai, I worked as a fashion and beauty writer. I read almost every fashion magazine, took pride in knowing all about the trends, and dressed, somewhat, oddly according to my own interpretation of the season’s “looks”.
I’ve never had a natural flair for style — for example, some of my past fashion mistakes (and this list is by no means exhaustive) include gold leggings, an orange satin shirt, a stretchy white lace A-line dress and a tartan bed shirt worn as dress. But, nobody could say I didn’t know my fashion labels and that I wasn’t passionate about the subject. I really did try hard.
I’ve done the whole thing; wearing shoes that hurt even while sitting, sporting barely there dresses and no tights in the middle of Britain winters, just because I knew it would look cute in photos (once my blue hypothermia legs were photoshopped out, of course) and I’ve blown obscene amounts on items I can barely get any use out of. I still have one Philosophy dress that I’ve never ever worn. I wanted so much to be thought of as a fashionable type but it never happened.
Instead, as my mother predicted, I am becoming more like her. I resisted for a long time. Not because there is anything wrong with my mother’s style but because, you know, you never want to dress like your mum, do you? Even if your mum was Anna Wintour, you’d probably still resist. But now I see the appeal in her simple style — earth tones, natural fibres and a few cutesy accessories thrown in to make it fun (I am a total sucker for a novelty T-shirt or jumper).
Nowadays, I get the same kind of thrill from finding a pair of floral cotton drawstring trousers for the same prices as a Starbucks coffee. That’s not a joke. I speed-walked to the market last week because I suddenly got the urge to buy a second pair. You can only imagine my despair at finding they’d already sold out. I’m still kicking myself for not bulk buying the first time.
The thought of wiggling into something uncomfortable (albeit beautiful) and hobbling around in discomfort all day just doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I like it for the occasional “wow Gaby! You scrub up alright” kind of comments, but most of the time I am quite content to go around in my leggings and trainers or, in the evening, slipping on my floral trousers, a plain T-shirt and a pair of flip-flops.
I do spend a fortune on getting my hair bleached to within an inch of its life and I do my makeup with some degree of talent (I was spotty from a very young age, so I mastered the art of makeup application at a young age), so it’s not like I go out looking like a bushman or anything.
Perhaps, another contributing factor to my new laziness is the fact that I have recently moved to the outskirts of the city, in the backpacker area of the town and almost everyone here is dressed in “same same but different” vest tops and harem pants. I suppose, subconsciously, I’ve started to blend in. After all, why would you totter out in heels and your best DVF dress when everyone else around you is sporting board shorts and vests? Or at least, that’s my excuse.
I tried for a little while when I first met my boyfriend — you know, to make a good impression — but I got tired of the “where are you going so dressed up?” comments at the local bars. I felt a bit silly and decided to ditch heels for flip-flops. Yes, these days it’s elasticated waistbands, flat shoes and sports bras.
When I lived in Dubai, I was more likely to wear designer togs (the very few I snagged in Saks for 70 per cent off) and, in London, I was really experimental (anyone familiar with the London Fashion Week knows the fashion scene there is very peculiar). So, I suppose, it’s only natural that living in Bangkok’s backpacker area would mean I would embrace tie-dye.
