A few confessions. I have never used fake tan before. Never. I have never had eyelash or hair extensions. I own precious few bodycon dresses – they are all stretched from years of collegiate afterparty exertions. Ridiculous heels have been tossed aside for sturdier, grown up boots. The clothes I own do all the work for me. High impact? Go with sequins? Everyday schlub? Denim is always within reach.
No racking my brains for interesting outfit combinations, not I. I have become set in my ways, low maintenance in only one aspect of my life. I think this is pretty good going for a person in her twenties who has not yet succumbed to the fantasy that she is a character in ‘Girls’ based entirely on her own lack of personal direction.
The low maintenance me separates clothes into two piles; occasion wear, which stays in the wardrobe because that is the place it is least likely to leave, and everyday wear, which is the essential nucleus of the single-cell organism that is the floordrobe.
Floordrobes are what happens when a certain set of conditions (stress, a packed schedule, lack of space) meets a human being with a particular personality type (scattered, usually). It’s not necessarily a bad thing. My best friend has a floordrobe and a chairdrobe, but with a newborn baby, who could quibble with that?
Floordrobes don’t have to be on your floor either. they can be anywhere as long as it’s not a space designated for storage – much too logical. On top of an appliance, usually a heater, is a popular choice, as is the back of the desk chair. My floordrobe space is my bed, a solitary messy island floating on a sea of pristine, untouched carpet (save for the empty Snax packets that have come to rest behind the bedside locker).
The floordrobe aficionado is either blissfully unaware of the negative impact it has on her wellbeing or stingingly cogent, but somehow powerless to clean it up. It’s as if the September Issue melded with Poltergeist – you think you have all your clothes organised and neatly in place, but let your eye stray from its original point and presto, everything has rearranged itself back on the bed. Somewhere, Anna Wintour is tutting and she’s not quite sure why.
The everyday floordrobe is in a state or organised chaos. I say ‘organised’ because every item of clothing tends to be the same colour, which makes it look a little more tidy and a little less like the vomit of a much-loved Sesame Street character. Unfortunately, this makes finding specific things very difficult. I have to wade through several pairs of black jeans and tops to get to one of my two blacks skirts. I am a blind person, trying to identify items of clothing through touch alone. The only item I can locate with ease in my floordrobe is, ironically, camouflage print.
As I type this, I realise that I spend far too much time in my easy-to-locate pajamas. I may have to leave the land of flannel and fuzzy leopard print and go back to black. Wish me luck.