Everyone secretly has a uniform. A string of clothing that they put together when they don’t want to put too much effort into the thought process of conjuring an outfit. For most people, it’s nearly always, jacket – top – trousers, in that order, worn together with the first pair of shoes omitted through ones lazier peripheral vision. For me, this exists but in somewhat more of an colour form.
There are particular colours that are embedded in my own notion of a ‘uniform’. I’m nearly always wearing black or khaki or black and khaki and it must drive everyone around me mad but the person who it actually matters too – me.
Example number 1. I called my mum and said ‘Mummy, did you read my latest blog post?’ only to be cut off with an abrupt reply on her behalf of ‘why? Is it black again? all you do is black on black on black’. Erm, SORRY?!?! Let’s not be passive aggressive , lady. Even my so called ‘laid back’ brother ( who takes my photos) said ‘Mel, everything you wear looks like it derives from the same look book from one designers collection’ after which he laughed so much at his dry ass joke you would think Kevin Hart came down from the sky and commended him on his witty comment.