I’m sitting here writing this post wearing a pair of leggings and my boyfriend’s hoodie. I have a shameful propensity for loungewear – it’s like my Lululemons call out to me from inside my closet, “wear me, wear me!” and against my better judgement, I oblige. Never louder is their cry than when I’m going on a trip somewhere, especially if it involves a long haul flight. That pressurized cabin is a spawning ground for women in Luon, and you’ll find me there, assuming static pretzel position; the leader of the pack.
Comfort is in the eye of the beholder (and in the give of my waistband). As clothing evolves to make its wearer more comfortable fabrics like Luon and Lycra suck everything in while feeling like a dream. Things like yoga jeans exist. It is now acceptable – and appropriate – to walk the streets with fabric wedged up the crack of your bum in the name of comfort.
Oh, comfort. The other day I witnessed two girls walk into Starbucks wearing Prada-esque, snowflake print pyjama pants, in straight up Christmas flannel. Isabel Marant, to me, symbolizes a return to comfort as an illusory byproduct of chic. Nowhere is this better encapsulated than her wedge sneaker, which has become world famous and copied infinitely; high heels disguised as a running shoe. She is the antithesis of those two girls in Starbucks; the antidote to Lululemon as fashion.
Since I can’t justify wearing real Isabel Marant to “kick it” around in – or get that awful airplane smell on a four hundred dollar sweater – the H&M capsule collection is the perfect cure to my loungewear malady. And as I predicted in a previous post, the grey sweater came home with me in a pretty tie dye shopping bag. I can just see me now, as I chassé off the airplane in this exact outfit like Kate Moss, minus the sea of paparazzi waiting to get a glimpse of me all bloated and dehydrated – which, I’m kinda OK with.
Photography by Alexander Liang