The first thing you learn about clothes is that they don’t have much going for them personality wise. They’re very clingy; like that boy you made the mistake of dancing with that kadanke, not enough years ago.
You don’t learn the second thing about clothes because you’re too busy pumping your little legs as hard and as fast as you can in the opposite direction from your mother and the offending piece of fabric that she’s trying to force onto your pudgy two year old frame.
This is why being naked in your room makes you feel so young and free and naughty. Your mind is transported back to a time when the only problem in your life was to choose which bed to hide yourself under, the moment mummy turned her back to pick out clothes for you.
After you’ve arranged them around your person, clothes are not very opinionated. Mostly, they sit on what curves you have and life goes on, unless you’re fashionable and then they do whatever humiliating thing their designer has instructed them to do. This can involve curling away from your body in an attitude of fear (couture) or highlighting how painfully skinny your leg has become (Jolie’s slit).
Clothes can be made at home but the tragedy of the matter is that most of the women who have sewing talent are contented to sit around in lesu and head-wraps, on shop corners, taka-taking away at seemingly shapeless bolts of cloth. Some of us who are dependent on new, pretty things for our happiness can’t even sew a button straight. This doesn’t stop us from trying however. DIY is the way to go, if only because you can take a picture of your contraption and parade it on pinterest and feel validated as a human being by all the nice comments.
Clothes used to have names, like trouser, skirt, blouse, dress, but things have been going downhill from the time the skirt-mpale came into existence. At some point when we weren’t looking, clothes, aided by that breed of comedians called fashion designers, exploded in an orgy of ginormous proportions and now everything is pregnant with everything’s child and we have no choice but to wear these contraptions. Manya ‘shants’ and ‘skirt-dresses’.
If you want to endear yourself to a girl, gift her with an article of clothing. No, this is not shallow. This is truth. Bring a dress to the Plan B office (size 12, length-short, color-bright), right this very instant and see if I don’t swear loyalty and sisterhood to you (for as long as the dress stays desirable).
If you want to endear yourself to a boy, get him a nice shirt. One that says something amusing about Rolexes. What? It works. Bring a def.in.ition shirt and see if I don’t swear firm friendship to you. No, I’m not a boy, but tell that to the three conductors whom, on days that I’m wearing particularly bright and pretty dresses and flawless make up, have called me Ssebo on account of me having a bald head.