Okay, I put my hands-up, I have been found guilty of many fashion-crimes in the past. Now I feel able say with (some) honesty that I’m a reformed character, a man able to navigate around a clothes shop without buying anything (too) horrendous.
Although I’m far from being a fashionista I do often find myself angered, actually physically incensed, by blokes who wear white socks with sandals; or those chaps who dress-down at the weekends with a pair of jeans yet still put on the same bloody black brogues they wear to the office.
However, there is one fashion crime that remains greater than all the rest: Baggy long-fibre fleeces with pictures of huskies, horses, unicorns, dogs, or any other animal that should never find itself immortalised in cheap polyester. They are the beloved winter fashion of the retiree about-town. These white-haired hipsters (some of them replacement-hipsters) are members of an exclusive club, for these fleeces aren’t available in shops. Such ghastly shag-pile garments can only be found hanging from the scaffolds of market stalls during the Autumn months; a hundred-a-day Marlborough-man enticices pensioners over with a gravely croon, “Two fleeces for a tenner darlin’, wrap yourself up warm for the winter love.” Even if you’re in your eighties, even if you have a walking stick and a shopping cart, please have some self-respect and buy a nice coat instead. If God’s Waiting Room has a gift shop these fleeces will be on the “It’ll see me out” hangar.
In my opinion there is only one correct way to wrap oneself up warm for winter, and that’s a onesie. I know that’s a controversial standpoint, but I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Barely a week goes by without someone I follow on Twitter smugly hating-on the onesie-wearers, ‘Onesies are really only appropriate for infants who can’t talk, feed or make decisions for themselves. In short: Onesie wearers. #onesies’. These comments come from people whom I imagine ‘relax’ in front of the TV by sitting bolt-upright in a crisply ironed shirt. Thus I reply, ‘Well, I’ve got one’ and await either a retraction or a piss-take. I’ve never had a retraction; but I’m not bothered. I was a trendsetter. Long before TopMan started selling them I had already spent £130 on a OnePiece onesie imported from Norway. I don’t mind looking like a thirty-year-old in a baby-grow. Until someone has slipped into the comfort of an outfit with no waistline and a mid-thigh-level crotch they cannot understand why the onesie is popular regardless of the haters. A onesie is the ideal garment for a rainy weekend, perfect for sitting cross-legged in front of the Playstation whilst eating Jaffa Cakes. If that makes me a five-year-old so what?
Oh go on then, wear that bloody fleece if you really want to.