Covid is over. It isn’t, but we all act as if it is. There are some residual things that may never go away. I read an opinion piece in The Washington Post about how what we wear will in the long term reflect not only our collective Covid angst, but also all the rest of the things that have caused us great emotional stress that are ongoing still: drought, war, politics, flu season, politics, global warming, Ukraine, politics, the holidays, the midterms, mass shootings, Kanye, politics, and so on.
According to this column, we all are dressing as if our clothes are made out of marshmallows. I can attest to this. My favorite outfit is still sweatpants or leggings with something very smooth on top: flannel or fleece preferred in winter.
But there are other remnants of the pandemic that are still with me. I wear a mask whenever I go to stores. Not so much to protect me from the virus, but so I won’t have to put on makeup. I just bought a new pair of shoes that are remarkably like bedroom slippers, except you can wear them anywhere. I wear them everywhere.
Why take a shower every day? Unless I have plans, I just do the “sponge bath” every other day. Rinse the hair with warm water.Dermatologists say that too much washing dries out the skin. So there.
Getting dressed as soon as you get up? A thing of the past. Now my goal is to don street clothes (that look sort of like pajamas, see above) no later than noon. The guilt about getting up and at it disappeared during lockdown. It never came back.
We have all gone slack, apparently. Catalogs now sell “work casual” attire. The trousers no longer have waistbands–just elastic bands with ties, you know–like sweats. And tie shoes are fading fast. America has embraced slides. I am fine with all this.
However, in the interest of remaining civilized, I will enact some discipline for Thanksgiving dinner attire: I will put on a blouse with buttons, the one pair of black slacks that I still own, those ballet flats that give me blisters, a bracelet, and makeup. It will be horrible.