One of my friends and I have this ongoing joke that our lives consist of one long string of wardrobe malfunctions. Unfortunately, it is reality rather than a joke. As much as I love fashion, it seems like fashion hates me. I have had umpteen wardrobe malfunctions, but there really are so many that I can’t share them all with you. So I’ve decided to discuss some of my most common sartorial issues. I wonder if anybody can sympathise with me on any of these?
I hate it:
When my tights get dog hair on them
I live in England. I have to wear tights almost all year round. I generally go for black opaques (mostly because I have a complex about my fat legs – we all know that black is a slimming colour). They look nice. They make me look thin. They make me happy. I wear a pair as soon as I bring them home from the shops. I come home. I stroke the dog. The dog doesnât even touch my legs. I somehow get dog hair on my tights. The tights are washed. There is still dog hair on my tights and more often than not the tights have gone all bobbly too. So I have to buy new tights. Because I have to buy about three new pairs of tights every weekend – and literally wear them once before they succumb to the dog hair – I can’t afford to buy tights for $12. So I buy them from Primark, for $2 a pair. I wonder if I bought pricier, better quality tights then they would last longer? But the dog hair would still stick to them, of course. I long for the days when I can treat myself to black tights from Falke but I’ll have to wait until I no longer reside alongside a dog.
When I get a ladder in my tights
This is, 99% of the time, my own fault. Although not a complete klutz, I am by no means a most graceful, ladylike person. Don’t judge me (I am quite normal), but whilst wearing tights I have climbed trees, walked the dog, crawled on the floor – amongst other things – consequently laddering the tights. Also, as I have already said, I don’t exactly break the bank when it comes to everyday hosiery (I splash out on $12 House of Holland for Pretty Polly tights when Henry whacks out a new collection), so I’m not really doing myself any favours. Don’t get me wrong: I am a fan of the dishevelled, rebellious, holes-in-tights/jeans look, but I’m generally not a fan of surprises, so walking down the corridor in college and I look down to find a great ladder in my tights, I am not best pleased.
Tip for those of you who find small ladders in their tights but still want to wear them: Apply clear nail varnish to stop the ladder from increasing in size. It works. Take the tights off and apply the nail polish and then let it dry. I’ve stupidly kept my tights on and applied the nail varnish and, of course, it just sticks to one’s legs and it’s not particularly comfortable.
When I roll my jeans up to proudly reveal my skinny, lightly tanned ankles and they gradually roll back down as I walk, looking pretty stupid
This is a pain. I don’t know if it’s supposed to happen. Does this happen to anybody else apart from me? It seems that it doesn’t as plenty of my friends (and, indeed, people I see all over the place) have perfected the art of rolling up their trousers. I love the allure of a bare ankle. I want to reveal my own ankles, but unfortunately my trousers keep rolling back to their original state. I’ve tried sewing a couple of stitches as soon as I’ve rolled up my jeans, but it doesn’t seem to work. Am I just being pedantic? Am I alone with this problem? Am I missing something (in all fairness, I’m almost always in skirts or dresses or shorts so I don’t really wear trousers that much)? Please let me know.
When my bra strap decides to detach itself
I have some bras that have removable straps, which I completely understand are a useful feature. I have one bra though- a Wonderbra, no less- that has straps that are firmly attached on the front, but then they can be detached at the back. I don’t understand why you would need to detach the back of your bra if you can’t detach the front. Anyway, when I first got the bra it was fine to wear. However, after having it for a couple of months, it is starting to really p**s me off to such a level that I no longer want to wear it in fear that it will embarrass me. Embarrass me, I hear you ask, how could it embarrass me? This is what happens: I’m at college, in a lesson. I’m wearing the bra. Suddenly things feel a bit loose on, let’s say, my right shoulder. I realise that my bra strap has detached itself at the back; the little hook has slid out of where it should be and so now the bra strap has become one long string and, oh God, now it’s slipped off my shoulder and it’s down my side and if I move I’m sure it’s going to poke out of the bottom of my top. So now I have to excuse myself and shuffle to the ladies to re-attach the bra strap. That’s not how it should be, surely? Or is my lingerie knowledge lacking something?
When “Dry Clean Only” is on the care label
One of my favourite tops is a Luella SS09 floral silk-cotton mix, short-sleeved button-up blouse. I want to wear it constantly- especially when it’s warm outside. However, like most lovely garments, the blouse is only to be dry cleaned. The nearest dry cleaners is about half an hour away in the car. And I don’t have a car. Sometimes I’m tempted to throw it in the washing machine, but my love for the blouse always holds me back.
When I’m convinced I have VPL
When it’s windy and I’ve been smart enough to wear the floatiest skirt in my wardrobe
Sod’s law – that lovely old adage is one of those things that sums up my life. Just like it’s Sod’s law that whenever it’s raining, I’ll wear something that will get ruined and/or become see-through when wet, it’s Sod’s law that whenever it’s windy, I’ll wear a skirt that is bound to blow up in the wind. Luckily, I often carry big bags or messenger bags that I can swivel around so they cover my bum, preventing the skirt from blowing up too much. But that still doesn’t stop me from being overly paranoid and almost always walking around clutching the sides of my skirt. I think it’s because I’ve had too many bad past experiences with inadvertent knicker-flashing, like when I was 15 and running to the school bus, which I was late for, on a windy day. I was stretching the uniform rules to their limit by wearing a gorgeous high-waisted, A-line skirt- complete with an underskirt for even more volume- which I loved. However, it was a windy day and as I was hurrying my skirt blew up and it stayed in that position. Being in such a flustered, rushed state, I didn’t realise my sartorial nightmare until I got on the bus to shouts of “nice knickers” and a stomach-churning look from 50 -year-old bus driver.
Feature image via.