Why I’m Dressing Up In Lockdown
The scene: Melbourne lockdown. My friend and I, socially distanced, are buying takeaway coffee. As I see all the beanie-wearing, parka-clad people around me, I ask my friend if I’m too dressed up. She looks at my leopard-print robe with sparkling beads on the sleeve edges, shrugs her shoulders and says, “I don’t know. For me, dressing up is not wearing slippers.”
Lockdown is doing strange things to our collective dress sense, changing the way we look at clothes. My friend admits that she tends to throw on the same thing for three days in a row. Me, I find it hard to ignore anything in my wardrobe that’s shiny. It’s like any item with a metallic thread woven through is whispering to me that I need to take it to the dance. I always oblige, even though there’s never any dancing.
It wasn’t always like this. When COVID-19 first hit, like everyone else, I buried my head in Zoom meetings, found kitchen utensils I’d never used, cleaned out my underwear drawer and lounged around in the kind of threads I previously loathed: althleisure wear. I ordered a tracksuit online. I ordered many things online. I suddenly realised: I. Do. Not. Have. Enough. Sneakers. And I ordered one more pair of those.
What I didn’t do was dress up. Not even my newest, never-worn purchase tempted me. Just a week before COVID announced itself as a here-to-stay thing – when I still thought it would pass in, like, a month – I bought a Carla Zampatti trench coat in a shimmery satin fabric, the colour of prosecco on a Positano afternoon. I had that moment, trying it on in the store, when I felt like the hue created the illusion I was wearing blush (Nars’ Orgasm to be precise), and the double-breasted silhouette created the illusion that I had a waist (or at least, that my waist had not wasted away completely). I didn’t know where the hell I’d wear it, I just knew I’d have to wear it.
The pandemic changed that. The Carla Zampatti coat stayed hidden it its garment bag. I didn’t even want to try it on for fun. It felt bad enough when the charges for it showed up on my credit card then I thought I’d wear it for my friend’s son’s bar mitzvah but it got postponed. I thought I’d wear it three months later, when it got rescheduled. And then it got postponed again. I wondered, fleetingly, if I could sell the coat on eBay.
“I’ve put my hair up with a faux pearl-laden clasp and tried to summon the 1950s, and I’ve made myself smile by putting a tulle spotted shirt over a casual T-shirt and jeans. ”
And then, four and a half months into staying-at-home in Victoria, I got ready for a FaceTime call. I washed my hair. I put on make-up for the first time that week and then had fun with it: I added glitter eyeshadow and slick lip gloss. And I unwrapped the coat. It still did that thing with my cheeks. It still made me feel like I’d lost 10 pounds or 10 years – or gained 10 years of the kind of life experience that makes you even more beautiful. I didn’t look at it and want to cry. I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. “You’re dressed up,” he said when I got on the phone call. Yes, sir, I am.
Since then, my wardrobe choices have veered away from sneaker territory towards “I Might Have To Go To A Studio 54 Revival Party” land. When will I get to wear the Micky In The Van gold lame top with bows on the shoulders? Um, probably tomorrow, if I wanted to, at my weekly work meeting. But even when fossicking around in my wardrobe, it’s the mood-lifters that call out. True, I don’t want to sit at my desk in silver stiletto boots when my cold feet are demanding a hot water bottle. But I do want to conjure up the same kind of feeling I get when I am prepping for a Saturday night. There’s that delicious sense of anticipation when you select a garment that makes you feel good. COVID might have taken away my Saturday nights, but it hasn’t taken away that.
And so, my week is now punctuated by what I am wearing, and what I am wearing reflects the mood I am in. I wore a black silk shirt for a brisk walk around the block, and I’ve worn a floor-length Romance Was Born dress with vivid patterning for a night at home. I’ve put my hair up with a faux pearl-laden clasp and tried to summon the 1950s, and I’ve made myself smile by putting a tulle spotted shirt over a casual T-shirt and jeans.
I know that not everyone is reacting this way – remember my slipper-wearing friend? – but I’d rather operate with the element of surprise, whether it’s aimed at me, my kids or the postman.
When a bridal gown designer friend of mine gifted me one of the masks she’d recently handmade – covered in French lace, and looking more like boudoir lingerie than a face covering – I knew we were on the same page. I may not come out of Lockdown 2 with new sourdough skills, but I’ve worked out who I’m dressing up for. It’s only me, and I am a very appreciative audience.
Words_ Rachelle Unreich
Photos_ Marina Piano/UnSplash