“My favourite pair of trousers”
It’s a common misconception that your clothes are just a bit of material that hold no additional value but to prevent nakedness, with nil sentimental attachment; but that is not the case for my favourite pair of trousers.
These trousers were not handpicked off the shelf nor would I of picked them out of a line up had I been given the opportunity but landed in my possession due to a friend’s generosity.
The magnitude of the pure quirkiness of the trousers was beyond daunting stemming from the extravagant colour theme to the uncommon hippy pattering thus making it evident that not only was this not everyone’s cup of tea but also you would have to be a pretty brave individual to attempt to pull it off. Personally, I am not the biggest fan of flares and as a short individual, my greatest concern was that it would trail behind me like the tail of a wedding dress but my greatest mantra is that “everything in life should be tried once” (in consideration to morality and legality) so I did it.
The day of wrecking was a “one drink escapade” that evolved into a full-blown pub crawl and night out but to my surprise, I was dressed for the occasion. The evening started with me emptying my wardrobe onto the floor as clearly the spontaneous approach of finding an outfit ten minutes before I was scheduled to leave the house had worked in my disfavour. Surprised I was not. In a state of panic, desperation and sheer hopelessness, I came across the flamboyant trousers tucked right at the back of the draw and paired it with a simplistic white top and thought “fuck it”. I walked to the mirror with crippling anxiety and dread but what I saw looking back at me was perfection.
My stomach rolls were nicely and discreetly concealed as it was high waisted and this meant that my bum was nicely captivated and showcased like fresh fish displayed in Waitrose. As the trousers hugged my thighs but were loose at the bottom, it made me look naturally “thick “ and tall but not in a forceful “This is my reality” sort of way but the balance was that was a sure science. What I struggled to fathom was how much I was in pure fury with myself, my body shape and wardrobe ten minutes ago but I now stand in front of the mirror checking myself out as if was about to ask myself for my own number.
I gallivanted out the door as if I was not dangerously close to a psychiatric breakdown and just whispered “shit den”. The tables could not have turned faster.
Now tell me that clothes don't pose sentimental or emotive value.
Despite being positively validated numerously about my figure and style that night the sense pure of euphoria and contentment came from me loving the way I looked. My self-love impacted how I viewed myself as a person, my mood, actions that night.
I made a silent promise to myself, when alone with my kebab that night /morning that I will utilize the greatness and compatibility of the trousers and due to their versatility, two years later it remains the most worn item in my wardrobe.