If you’re proud to work in your pyjamas you might want to look away now. That said, each to their own. I’m not here to nag about your fashion faux pas!! Personally I hate working in my pyjamas. I feel lazy, unmotivated and sluggish, but that’s just me.
When I first started working as a translator back in year 2000, in a world without wifi, Google and decent Internet connections, I still lived with my parents. I’ve never been one to sleep in but I do like snuggling up in bed on a cold morning with a book or lost in my own thoughts. So sometimes when I couldn’t drag myself out of bed and had to proofread or translate a short text at the crack of dawn, I’d just reach over to my desk (conveniently located in the comfort of my room) and deal with the text before heading down to breakfast and a morning chat with the family. So... I guess that could count as working in my PJs. Oh, the horror!!!!
FF a few years on down the line and cut to me living in my first flat and suddenly being able to make my own rules. Sure, I’d been away on an Erasmus in Geneva and studying an MA in the UK but in both of those cases I actually had to get dressed and leave the house everyday to go to uni and I usually spent the weekends nursing killer hangovers doing my homework and can’t really remember what I was wearing. Although I was obviously free to do as I pleased I hardly ever lounged around in my PJs. Maybe the fact that my parents had a strict pyjamas ban had something to do with it. Pyjamas were to be worn in bed and occasionally on a lazy Sunday morning at the breakfast table. That was it. Shuffling around in pyjamas and a dressing gown when you had a cold was out of the question.
Soon after moving out I got a dog and as soon as Silva entered the stage the unthinkable thought of ever working in my PJs flew out the window since the first thing I'd do was get dressed and take her for a walk. Back then, my garment of choice was the tracksuit. Guess I could blame it on the tracksuit-clad bands I was listening to. Adidas was actually all the rage at the time, so I could get away with calling it a fashion statement. [Lamest excuse ever?]. I cringe at the thought. I now only wear a tracksuit on the occasional visit to a muddy park with the dog or when I’m making my way back from the gym on a cold winter night. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one in public for any other reason.
Instead of going through every single item in my wardrobe I’m going to fly with that last thought “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public” because it crosses my mind almost every single day.
I’m no fashion guru and I don’t follow up on every single trend listed in the Vogue look book, but I do pride myself in being a somewhat stylish dresser with a strong penchant for the 90s when I’m out and about, but at home I seem to have become an onioner and a compulsive clothes-changer.
Being an onioner, for those who haven’t guessed, is all about layers. Working at home exposes us to ever-changing climates. My flat now has central heating, the kind that is decided for me by whoever runs this building, so being the early bird that I am, when I get up at 7am it’s freezing. I usually pull on a pair of leggings/jeans and a thick jumper and head into the office to get some work done check my Reader before I take Nara for a walk. I’m always cold and my fingers go numb (more on that in another post) so I put on an extra jumper, sometimes pull on a pair of jeans, a scarf and two pairs of gloves. When I get home I peel off layers of clothes and make breakfast. By the time I sit down I’m cold again so I'm back to adding layers, another cardigan here, a snood there and I throw a pair of thin gloves into the mix just for fun. Then the heating comes on at midday and I run through the opposite process, leaving my extra office chair strewn with clothes for the day. On “paper” this doesn’t sound as extreme as the combinations I put together are. You should actually take a look at the crummy leggings, bobbly dresses/jumpers and t-shirts that I sit around in. When couriers come round, I take a deep breath before opening the door and greeting them in my combination of old jeans, woollen dress, slippers, fleece, sweatshirt and scarf. All at the same time. Summer’s different, I usually type away in flimsy old dresses or an old t-shirt and girl boxers. The keyword to the disgraceful summer look is “old”. Holes are always welcome.
Hairstyles are also worth a mention. I wear my hair à la garçon at the moment, but I used to sport the Louise Brooks look and you don’t want to know about the state of my fringe when I needed a haircut. Barrettes, hairclips and bobby pins galore. Plus, without my GHD irons, I get cowlicks all over the place. Frizzle is my middle name, so my shadow during lunchtime walks with the dog makes me look like Tintin.
So to cut a long story short, my freelance wardrobe is all about jeans, woolly dresses, leggings, thick tights, sweat shirts and cardigans in the winter, and hot pants and a vest in the summer. No pyjamas for me!!
Now please excuse me as I hurry off to change because I have people coming round to watch the footie!!
