Anyway, I do get slightly anxious about returning to the UK for holidays because of clothes. I have a friend who lived overseas for many years and when she came back she looked … uhm … a bit odd; like she’d been outer space or in prison for a while (I’m sure she hadn’t). Nothing was wrong exactly, but there was something indefinably, slightly not right about what she wore.
I would be right up there at the front of a riot yelling that everyone has a right and the freedom to dress as they wish, but since a horrible, socially scarring incident circa 1982 I don’t personally express any individuality that way. It’s funny, but only in the writing of this post have I realised that the reason for this is probably down to one incident.
Being a child of the 80s I was a New Romantic. Adam Ant and Duran Duran - you were my heroes. I remember being right out there with the clothes (oh dear god, some of the things I wore to Non Uniform day make me cringe just to think of.) I have one memory where I wore a new look into our town when … well … it really wasn’t quite high street yet. It involved a ra-ra skirt and legwarmers – just go and look here and for the eye make up, have at look at this. People looked at me as though I was from Mars.
Clearly I’ve never recovered from this incident. I moved here as a jeans and t-shirt (don’t notice me or my clothes) person but the expat women dress pretty smartly and I was constantly turning up to things and feeling embarrassed at how
So today I dug out my jeans (it’s too hot for them here) but I’m still left with a slight anxiety about whether or not I should be trying to find purple macramé before I leave for the UK.
