Fashion Weak


I know I am challenged when it comes to dressing like an adult; especially since I retired and no longer have to maintain any pretense that I have an interest in not looking like I’m still in elementary school.  Tennis shoes, jeans and a t-shirt and I’m good to go.

But there’s one rule I stick by: the shirts I sleep in are for that purpose only.  They are not standby undershirts, they are not to be used in public even as “I’m just going to run down to Starbuck’s and get a jolt and I don’t want to get dressed.”  They’re all white, v necked, cotton, slightly too big and not at all something anyone needs to see me wearing.   A few years ago, I bought the present generation which are Calvin Klein cause I’m all fancy and stuff and which have finally reached the quality of perfect softness old cotton achieves.

I adore this.  Soft as your own skin and with a delicate perfume only well-loved cotton has.  Of course, this means they’re doomed.  One day you’re admiring the lovely texture of your pyjammas (and that’s how I spell it, I don’t care what spell check thinks) and the next you’re wondering what the hell all that lint in the washer is, only to realize it’s all that’s left of your favorite t-shirt.  And flights of angels sing thee….


Wore out shirts, blonde not included.

For once, I’ve been proactive and ordered a batch of new ones to prepare for that sad, sad day.  I buy them in bulk, so now I’m stocked with three dozen jammie shirts, a mix of old and new.  I’m trying to phase in the newbies, but inevitably I find myself pawing down through the stack until my hand hits one of the old faves.  And really how much “breaking in” does a cotton t shirt need?

8 responses »

  1. Oh, Lord – I know exactly what you mean. I have a stash of great Ralph Lauren tees we picked up on a trip home years ago (like 8 or so), back when we were happy expats, and they’ve slowly been migrating over the years from being outside to inside clothes (one great thing I’ve picked up from having an Egyptian around the house: changing into PJs-or-the-equivalent immediately on entering the house). There’s nothing like well-worn cotton jersey. These days (sixty pounds later) they hang like loose flapping sails, but I can’t bear to part with even the raggiest. And I’ve no idea what size i am, so I suppose I have to go try stuff on. Damn Miss Rose.


  2. As we seem to be moving in the general direction of bed (or somewhere nearby), may I say that it’s the same with cotton sheets. Just as they become as soft as a kitten’s ear, they dissolve. Alas.


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