Bed, Bath and Beyond

I’ve always been a one for a good night’s sleep and a decent pair of pyjamas to accompany it. Now I’m no sleeping beauty, I know what a state I am in the morning and friends amusing photos of me sleeping have not proved me otherwise. But I am also equally aware of other people’s state in bed. I have witnessed countless friends cracking out ankle swinging pjs that Mr. Cowell would be ever so proud of.  So when it comes to bed, bath and beyond what is good bed etiquette, or bed-tiquette?

I can recall countless occasions when I have arose from my ‘beauty sleep’ only to be told by some smart aleck that I look a state or worse, ill. Now I know that I’m no Grace Kelly or SJP when it comes to sleepwear but I don’t consider myself the worst dressed person in bed. My pyjama collection extends to the likes of Jack Wills and Paul Frank for God’s sake! But the ultimate question I keep having to ask is ‘why does it matter?’ Surely when it comes to sleepwear comfort is the top trump?

(What Carrie wore to bed in SATC 2, from left to right- Vintage Calvin Klein, Curve, Balmain and Calvin Klein, The Lake and Stars.)

(From left to right: Carine Gilson, Odette Barsa, Yigal Azourel and Eres, vintage.)

I suppose there is the question of having the company of a male in bed (which I do not, meaning I can look like Oscar the grouch and there aint gonna be no complaints) but surely there would be no point in decent pjs if they’re gonna be coming off anyway? This brings me to the equally bamboozling subject of underwear.

I have been living life somewhat singular for a while now but yet I still have a repetitive urge to buy myself gloriously frilly panties and bras that wouldn’t look out of place in Dita Von Teese’s wardrobe. Why is this? Who am I trying to impress exactly? Has underwear become more than simply a staple wardrobe piece designed to keep you from looking droopy? Has it become a staple in a way that it completes the outfit, makes a woman feel good and exciting and daring and sexy?

(Dita)

I say this but I do so enjoy my granny pants days! I tend to wear really gorgeous underwear on special occasions, which is bizarre seeing as it is probably least likely that anyone will be seeing my underwear at a gay wedding or my nana’s funeral (at least you would hope so.)

I suppose underwear and sleepwear have different rules for different occasions and social circumstances. Gok Wan could probably write a half decent book about it that we would then find marked half off in WHSmith a little after Easter but here are some basic underwear rules:

1.      1.  Good underwear connotes good experience (if you get my drift) so don’t go promoting yourself wearing La Perla if in reality you’re more George at Asda.

2.      2.  Fancy underwear can really frighten a man. Especially if he’s ill-experienced, he will think you have high expectations, (you very well may do but you don’t want him to think that.)

3.     3.  Your mum is never ever NEVER going to buy you sexy underwear, she doesn’t see you as anything other as her beautiful un-spoilt daughter, so don’t wait around until Christmas for a new set of under wear to show off in front of your man unless his taste extends to the likes of Wonder Woman and Paddington Bear pants.

4.      4.  It’s ok not to own all matching underwear. For one it means an annoying amount of washing and a hefty underwear bill (there’s no point spending £36 on the matching bra when you only needed the pants) and two, the bras that match granny pants are HIDEOUS.

5.      5.  It’s ok to own pretty underwear if you’re single.

6.      6.  The only time it’s REALLY important to wear nice sleepwear is if you’re staying in a really posh hotel, you don’t want to be visiting the ice machine for your late night diet coke in your too short 6 years old Mini Boden PJs (yes I’ve been there.)

And that’s pretty much it (well there are several more rules but I’m not being paid like Gok Wan so I can’t be bothered to write them!) For now I might just take a leaf out of my male friend’s book and wear nothing but a pair of boxers to bed, then people would really have something to complain about.

Short and sweet?

The politics of skirts has something that has been the vain of my life. I never know whether I'm coming or going, whether hitching up or rolling down.

Before circa the year 9 period of my life the length of skirts never seemed to be an issue. There wasn't the same sexual politics there are now, and most pre-teens have absolutely no style or sophistication and are practically androgynous. 

But I remember a specific stage in my life when 'below-the-knee' was no longer socially acceptable. You were a 'prune', 'frumpy' and 'fridgid' if you wore anything that didn't skim your bum. I spent so many of my later years in high school constantly on the look out for one particularly prune-like member of staff who seemed hell-bent on catching me with my trousers down and, so to say, my skirt 'up.'

After somehow avoiding permanent expulsion (lets just say I wasn't particularly good at keeping an eye out for  Mrs. Prune), and keeping my 'cool' in tact with my thigh skimming skirts and perfectly polished legs, I hit a new social faux-pas with the skirt length. A situation that caused me to ask myself 'am I a slut?!'

This all came about on a recent trip to my best friends flat. She opened the door and the male half of her flat were all stood in the kitchen doorway looking very sheepish, she turned around and said;

"no not today."

Bewildered I asked what

"They wanted to see if you were wearing a short skirt again today. They enjoy it when you do."

What? Had I some how fallen out of the short skirt loop? I thought my skirt length was perfectly adequate and almost modest in comparison to some I'd seen. In need of some reassurance I asked my flat. I did not get the ideal response by any stretch of the imagination.

Response 1 from candidate number 1- male flat mate-

"Jesus, yeah you really do wear such short skirts all the time!"

Response 2 from candidate number 2- older male flat mate-

"Yeah marf I hate to say it because you're like my sister but you do wear some stupidly short skirts"

Response 3 from candidate number 3- Female flat mate's best friend (at this point I was clutching at straws)-

"Well I have seen your bum at least 4-5 times today."

Oh. Ok. when did this happen? I'm pretty sure when I last checked that most males appreciated a short skirt? Maybe I'm not young enough or slutty enough to pull it off, but being 19 you would think I am? (young enough not slutty.) I don't wear short skirts for male attention, in fact I find it incredibly hard not to wear a short skirt because I'm so tall!

But  when I do try and find an antidote to this skirt curse it just ain't happening, when I wore my maxi dress I got a similarly confused reaction from candidate number 1 who hilariously pointed out: 

"you look like mother Mary."

(not quite the look I was going for)

However I did receive a positive reaction from candidate 3 and best friend who are both female.

I think I am just going to have to play it by ear. Swap my skirt for different social situations. Best friend's flat, appreciate skirt length, my flat- not so much. (I need one of those draw string skirts, that when you pull the ribbon the skirt hitches up and then you can pull it down again.)

Moral of the story- don't bend down so much...

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...

The man, the myth and the shirt-dress

In the land of fashion you’re always trying to impress somebody, even if you don’t know who you’re trying to impress you always aim to look good and casually fish for compliments. As my blog clearly states, “first impressions count for everything.”

And so there I was casually venturing out in what I deemed to be a pretty successful outfit, an oversized whistles t-shirt with haphazard nautical striping, several gold necklaces, and topped off with a pair of short dungarees. There I was, cool as a cucumber, vogue-Esq. style, Ralph Lauren eat your heart out....

“What are you wearing?! Why are you wearing dungarees?! Is your current profession a farmer? That scarecrow wants his outfit back!”

I’d hit the inevitable, the straight male flat mate and his ‘hilarious’ quick wit. I took it on the chin. Me and my flat mates have a sort of mutual understanding being that I remain their favourite flatmate so long as they are allowed to bully me senseless. But then as we headed out of the flat into the great wide world another non-flatmate male made an almost identically ‘funny’ joke.  “Working on a farm today are we marf?” HMMMMMM.

(What I was trying to envisage ^^^^, what I was not >>>)

I got over this fashion downfall as I wandered around the likes of REISS, Kurt Geiger and All-Saints and in each and every shop I received a compliment from a female shop assistant and I figured these were people I could trust. One particular shop assistant in All-Saints said something quite interesting...

“Don’t you find though that if a boy does give you a compliment...” (at this point my guess to the rest of the sentence was ‘you just want to reach up and kiss them), “you just want to go and change straight away?”

WHAT?!

If this is true who the bloody hell do we spend all this time trying to impress? She might have been a lesbian in which case this idea would work for her but I don’t swing that way you see. I suppose to some degree I want to impress my girlfriends, I don’t want them to think I’ve had some kind of mental downfall but ultimately if I wear a sexy dress I want a man to think I’m sexy you know?

I’d tried to think of occasions when men had complimented me on an outfit, and for the very few occasions I can think of it has been when I have been wearing either something inanely ordinary or if I’ve been wearing something that shows off so much skin I might as well have worn a towel.

(Kristin Davis- probably who we would deem least stylish in sex and the city but is usually the one men would most like to take home)

So what do men want? Are we stretching the boundaries too far when we stretch the boundaries of fashion. Every time we step out of the house wearing dungarees or playsuits or maxi dresses are we just setting ourselves up to be mocked by men on the prowl armed with their witty comments.

And if we are stretching the boundaries why do our girl friends tell us we look good? Are we lying because we’re too nice and don’t want to stamp on each other’s feelings or do we just have a different, more sophisticated taste when it comes to style.

When it all comes down to it surely we shouldn’t need reassurance as fashion is all about self expression?

Nevertheless today I dressed myself in what I thought would be a man’s ideal outfit. A plain white shirt-dress, not too manic or too ‘out there.’ But to top it off it eludes just the right amount of  sex appeal as it looks like I’ve just spent the night at a man’s house and I’m wearing one of his shirts to cover my modesty whilst eating breakfast, though of course a little more glamorous than that.

So here I go sex on a stick, glamour puss, Amazon Women....

“What’s that a giant t-shirt?”

I’m becoming a nun.