Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like without clothes to hide behind. You know... like at the start of civilisation, when doing a nuddy run was just what everyone did. I bet life was less complicated than it is now.
Firstly, the advent of clothing meant laundering. And lots of it. I mean, despite what's going on around me, work, home, studies, illness, death, anger, fights with the hubby, fights with the kids, nuclear explosion; jocks, socks, frocks, t-shirts, pants, towels and sheets need to be washed, dried, hung out, folded and put away. It's a never ending cycle (pardon the pun) of wash, dirty, clean.
Having said that, thank the Lord that we are no longer required to wear corsets, long skirts, petticoats and foundation garments that could kill you. I mean, who in their wisdom deemed that attire fashionable?? I'm going to say probably a man. Because they didn't have to wear it.
I'm certainly not recommending getting rid of clothes, because we all know that there are some things that just need to be kept private. Like your privates, which really aren't the most beautiful of appendages, particularly the male ones. Sorry boys, true story.
When you're a kid (or at least this was the case in my younger days) you really didn't care what you threw on, as long as it covered you up but allowed you a comfortable range of movement. As time passed, you began to realise that certain attire was view on more favourably by members of the opposite sex, although for me this awakening came very late in life. Slow learner.
In a girl's life, the day you realise that life as you know it is over is the day you wear your first training bra. I still remember with clarity and lingering post traumatic stress that it took me about two weeks to feel comfortable wearing one. Don't be fooled into thinking it's a right of passage that's fun. It pinched, it pulled, it dug into my shoulders and I just hated it. Quite frankly, I could quite easily strangle, or at the very least torture the spark plug that introduced underwire. That shit is just... OMG effing annoying!! Although in an episode of Alias, an undercover spy used the wire to stab someone in the eye and free herself from captivity, so I'm reviewing my initial assessment.
So from that moment on, you realise that your boobies are kinda like currency. If you're blessed with big ones, your popularity at school goes up in a big way. The older you get, the lower your necklines plunge. And why not? Cleavage gets you dates, drinks, sometimes flowers and a lot of rubber necking from people who aren't subtle.
I'll admit, I used cleavage to my advantage in my twenties. I didn't really have any other chips to throw into the poker game of life, so I used whatever resources I had available.
Now, I was child of the 80's. Great music. Appalling dress sense. I mean, like, really, really, really bad. I'm going to be honest, I have no fucking idea what the hell we were thinking back then. Fluro colours, tube skirts, satin shirts, the pirate or romantic revival, lace, crucifixes, shoulder pads, peplum jackets. Thanks Culture Club and Madonna. Because of you, I stole large O rings from my Dad's work van to foster my coolness.
I now stick to basic black most days. I laugh inwardly at the teen babies who follow the pages of Shop Till You Drop religiously and groan inwardly as they reinvent a 'new' look by introducing an updated version of what we wore 20+ years ago.
These days, the bra comes off about ten minutes after I get home and it's fabulously liberating. If I could, I'd wear elastacised waisted trakky daks every day, with a generously sized t-shirt and havaianas. Alas, real life means you have to engage with your surroundings which means I'm forced to wear more polished outfits from time to time. And that's not a bad thing. I quite enjoy frocking up.
But the bra thing... Still trying to get used to it.
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