I love clothes, I do. I have many of them. Yeah, loads don’t fit, but I hang on to them anyway, in the vainglorious hope that my pre-pregnancy body will suddenly magically appear from under the layers of biscuit flab and pouchy flubber. ANYWAY. I have lots of clothes. Some are old and stuff. Some are proper old. This is my oldest item of clothing:
I got this T-shirt while I was taking part in my first ever proper school play, which was Oliver!, as you may be able to tell. It was 1990 – 22 years ago now – I was in the first year of secondary school. I loved it – every second of it – and that T-shirt (plus a video of the play that doesn’t work, and an everlasting memory of the LYRICS IN THEIR ENTIRETY) is all I have left of that time.
When I was 15 I would wear the T-shirt with denim hot-pants and plimsolls, and hang out on College Green in Bristol, and wonder why the tramps were staring at my legs (I also wore dorky plastic-rimmed big glasses and plaited my uber-long hair in two braids – please – I was so naive).
Then when I went through a part-Goth phase, I wore it in what I hoped was an ironical manner with a big black holey jumper and stripy tights and DMs. I probably just looked a bit mental.
Thereafter it was relegated to the pyjama drawer, forgotten about for a bit, rediscovered as a long-lost relic, and since then I wear it to bed. It is old, faded, thinning, wizened, and threatening to disintegrate at the seams. But I love it. My vintage threads.
What do you have in your wardrobe that could safely be described as fossilised? Take a photo, tell me a story, and tag other folk (if you want to know what’s in their closet, that is).
I am going to TAG PEOPLE NOW. The lucky recipients of this meme are…
They’d better do this or I’m hunting them down.