Do you remember how putting on a pair of jeans was just like drinking water? Easy and quite satisfying? Well, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?
Life in quarantine made us see our priorities straight, and apparently, getting dresses each day to look somewhat put together, wasn’t one of them.
I mean, why defying gravity when you could easily stay braless all day and let science do its thing?
We adapted quite quickly, moving our laptops in bed, carving spaces around the house for zoom calls. Our skin feeling the shadows of human touch and the absence burnt like an open fire.
Banana bread was made, fresh loafs turned our houses into bakery heaven, not smelling like Diptique candles anymore. Our bodies, heavier and rounder and no longer fitting into skinny jeans — or any other jeans, to be fair — slid into comfy pairs of fancier tracksuits, destined to stay there for a good while.
And just like that, after we started getting used to it, and enjoying it, they say we can actually go outside, in the real world?
What does it mean? Are my tracksuits, now stained and taking over the whole wardrobe, outdoor approved? Do my bras even fit anymore? Makeup? What’s that?
If you told me two years ago, I wouldn’t want to wear jeans to see friends, I wouldn’t have believed you. Wash your mouth! Jeans are sacred. Now, they can burn in hell for all I care.
After the curfew was lifted, I was actually pretty sad and disappointed. Because that meant I suddenly had places to go, plans to make, people to see and how exactly do you do that?
For someone so used to only watch people on tv for a whole year, the thought of actually talking to one, let alone touching them, start a conversation that didn’t involve my latest Asos tracksuit haul, suddenly felt overwhelming.
How do you even talk to people? Where do you go? The choices are endless and honestly, I feel tired even thinking about it.
Now I suddenly have to think about clothes to wear outside, trying to squeeze my new size 16 into jeans and my boobs into…