‘That Friday Feeling’ may have been made naff by Instagram, but that still does not alter its essential truth. The relief when the clock hits home time is akin to what I imagine Trump feels when a gust of wind narrowly misses knocking off his toupee in front of some world dignitaries and several hundred camera lenses.
After a brisk commute home and time spent luxuriating in the shower there is a sudden lull in activity before you get ready to meet your friends. I tend to sit on my bed with my hair wrapped in a turban and stare at the wall, post social media scroll.
It is in this limbo, where one is able to let the work-week-gone-by go and acclimatise to the prospect of guilt-free drinking, lying in, and hangovers spent in bed - rather than dry-heaving over the work loo.
Life seems good.
... until you get a Whatsapp from a friend with the dreaded question ...
‘What are you wearing tonight?’.
‘What am I wearing?’ I ponder..
‘Whaaaaaaat am I wearing’, a slightly higher and more panicked internal monologue continues.
I reverse the question, hoping to find solace in her evident lack of decisiveness too, responding nonchalantly, ‘Um, not so sure yet, what are yoooou wearing?’
“Oh, just this cute new dress I ordered online at the beginning of the week” she replies.
First thought - Damn! has it sorted is smug AF about it.
Second thought - why the HELL ARE YOU MESSAGING ME is you already know what you’re wearing.
Suddenly the towel is too tight, the dressing gown is giving me a hot flush and I can feel the BO brewing before I can even reach for deodorant.
I throw open the cupboard doors to reveal a churning sea of colours and cloth with clothes that seem to represent only two ends of the spectrum. The ‘smart casual’ attire, used for work, and those random three-times-a-year drinks parties, or else roll into a bar wearing pink cord dungarees and my Doc Martens.
It is at this moment I spot an item of clothing that has gathered the metaphorical, and literal dust of time hanging from my pants drawer. ‘Tis the fabled bodysuit that I have never been able to quite commit to... Could I…. dare to outerwear?
A thousand questions run through my mind.
If my underwear is going to be my outerwear, then what the hell on earth do I sport underneath it? Another pair of pants, and another bra? Or is that weird?
I climb into my Blackberry bodysuit as I slake my thirst with my second Vodka. It is here that a more practical, and pressing, prang begins to claw at the workings of my mind. What the hell do I do if I need a wee?
Do I do as a festival-goer, and mount the loo seat, pulling aside the girth of my lacy cocoon? Or, do I have to get starkers from that dreaded moment after I break the seal? And run the risk of being slapped with an indecent exposure record. A bodysuit resulting in a lawsuit, classy.
Another text comes through. ‘Just leaving. See you soon!’
Damn! I should have planned ahead. I can work out the loo situation later.
So how to style?
I reach for my cupboard and throw on a pair of jeans and silky jacket.
I am not going to lie, it takes a few moments to get used to it BUT(T), it is super comfortable, flattering and goes perfectly with jeans and trainers and my favourite silk jacket.
With one last steadying swig, I turn fearlessly back to the mirror. Success! An outfit that is daring, but not totally baring! I give myself the nod of approval, a last spritz of scent and hit the town.
Illustration: Rachel Campbell @the_illustratice