Persona Personal

I am a yes man, well woman. I will say yes to pretty much everything, which has its benefits as well as it’s disadvantages (for example little lord Fauntleroy flat mate asks me to make him a bacon sandwich to cure his hangover, I snap to it.) But chances are you ask me on a night out I will most probably comply.

So when it comes to dressing up for me, and I’m pretty sure that the entire female population, it’s any excuse. So last night typical ‘let’s ditch revision’ leading to ‘let’s make cocktails’ leading to going to Sainsbury’s and before you know it your rifling through your wardrobe trying to find a half decent going out dress that hasn’t got some mysterious stain on it from other impromptu nights out.

(Totally wish my getting ready process was as glamorous as this.)

I went for a tight wrapped white bandage (bondage) dress, a heavy face of makeup and my little heels that pinch my toenails so much I swear to God they are just gonna fall right off my feet. After several compliments and with my head about to explode, I got to thinking, on these nights out to dark drunken disgusting hovels only to get unwontedly groped by some slimy old businessmen who’s poor wives are sat unaware at home, why oh why do we transform ourselves into these ‘dressed-up-to-the-nines’, flirty and probably a little bit slutty women? 

I know for a fact that my going out style is not reflective of my daywear. During the day I am Reiss meets urban outfitters but by night I look more Essex than English rose. This is true for pretty much any lady, they can be as stylish as Mary Portas and then by night, Katie Price comes out to play. And that’s the thing all girls look pretty much identical, give or take a few false eyelashes, heels and hair. We become like this army of high class hookers, armed with our assets but usually with no intention whatsoever of using them. And we accept the height of discomfort, and what for? Male attention? Believe me some of the places we go you need a 'boy be-gone' spray.

(If you put yours and your friends faces over these ones would be pretty much what we wear on a typical night out, notice how posey we get?)

So why do we become these mystery women? With a whole new persona to match our outfits. Does going out require a new state of mind? Does making ourselves into these completely different ladies, with no morals and no taste in men make it easier to deal with the horror movie that is a student night out? Is it so that the next day, when we are in a comatosed state crying if we so much as drop a fork and appreciating the gospel that is Jeremy Kyle, we can simply brush off our behaviour because on a night out we are not ourselves  and our outfit is the disguise and the excuse for our antics?

I certainly hope this applies because I have too many antics that I don’t think I have enough outfits to disguise them in. Especially as I’m such yes man...