I fucking love the idea of matchy matchy dressing with my boyfriend. In fact it's something I try to trick him into doing regularly, but he's yet to fall for it and was rather annoyed with me when we left his house last weekend in almost matching scarves. I, conversely, punched the air with glee.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't want us to look like creepy twins, or like that couple who wear one red one green Converse each that
Alexander Fury keeps seeing in Tesco, but there's something fun and ridiculous about being part of a secret gang of sorts who wear the same clothes and do the same shit. I love secret gangs: I used to wish when I didn't have anyone to ride my bike with that I could get a whole gang of friends and dress them up in leather jackets, then we'd ride around and maybe find a secret island like in
Swallows and Amazons, and hang out there for the afternoon. Come on! Who doesn't want a secret gang? Handshakes and haircuts, secret words and songs, imagine it!
If you think about it being in a relationship with someone is a bit like being in a secret gang as long as you do it right. The best things about secret gangs are how everything cool you do is exclusive and under wraps. So if you and your boyfriend call each other pet names, or have private jokes, it becomes 100000000% less cool and fun when you say them in front of people. This goes double for dressing up. While Halloween is the one day of the year this advice/rule/whatever can take a hike, I want you first to look at Dough Reinhardt's face and think twice before you dress as the tooth fairy and a... ummm.... depressed molar?
I find that most people and pets find being dressed up like an amusing toy incredibly humiliating no matter how much I'm, er I mean,
you're enjoying it which is a damned shame. Although, duh, your boyfriend isn't a toy some days it would really be a lot better if he just let you do his mascara, draw a glitter lightning bolt on his face, and squeeze into some co-ordinating platforms, because then the two of you could act out some sweet as fuck
Bay City Rollers videos. Or you could wear matching suits and pretend to be city boys. Or put on wigs and pretend to be Lady Gaga and her reflection. The possibilities are ENDLESS.
Just remember the secret gang's rule: keep it indoors, because then no-one can laugh at you.
Pictures from Fuck Yeah Cute, I Love Pugs, and Jezebel
I was 9 years old when I first read Nana. I was on holiday and had run out of books, so picked up the novel my Dad had just done with and tucked in. On first read I fell in love with the childish, impulsive, somewhat cruel, Nana and the heady perfume of her theatrical world. My first encounter with her was as she walked out onto the stage almost naked for her theatre debut at the tender age of 15. The hush of the crowd followed me through the book as Nana fucked, fought, and froliced with almost every male who run across her path. While she can hardly be considered to be a heroine in the heroic sense, and Zola is often at pains to point out how ignorant or immature she is, the sheer determination to make someone of herself is leaves its mark on even the hardest heart.
At the age of 9 I could hardly understand the not so subtle sexual tone of the book, but I loved Nana for bucking the system in every way she could, and having a bed surrounded by blue drapes and carved cherubs. Now, having read the book countless more times I love her pig headedness, her sharp tongue, and her girlish gaudiness. Had she been moved from the 1800s to now, I'd like to think her look would be perfect for any hopeful cocotte.
Ossie Clark Casino Crepe Blouse
Bobbi Brown No Smudge Mascara in Black
Your Boyfriend Is (Sadly) Not A Toy
I fucking love the idea of matchy matchy dressing with my boyfriend. In fact it's something I try to trick him into doing regularly, but he's yet to fall for it and was rather annoyed with me when we left his house last weekend in almost matching scarves. I, conversely, punched the air with glee. Now don't get me wrong, I don't want us to look like creepy twins, or like that couple who wear one red one green Converse each that Alexander Fury keeps seeing in Tesco, but there's something fun and ridiculous about being part of a secret gang of sorts who wear the same clothes and do the same shit. I love secret gangs: I used to wish when I didn't have anyone to ride my bike with that I could get a whole gang of friends and dress them up in leather jackets, then we'd ride around and maybe find a secret island like in Swallows and Amazons, and hang out there for the afternoon. Come on! Who doesn't want a secret gang? Handshakes and haircuts, secret words and songs, imagine it!