I Go Here

The other day I went for kebabs (better make that kbabs) on Smith Street here in Melbourne. And yes, they were delicious, but that’s not the point right now. The point is that like some duffer going to a dress up party with the theme of ‘North-side hipster’ I wore Stan Smiths, pinstripe culottes, a grey t-shirt and cat-eye sunglasses.

Now I have talked about clothes as communication many a time on the site. But it never ceases to amaze me how much clothes can signify ownership to a group, and not just in a ‘On Wednesdays we wear pink’ kind of way. We almost become clichés of ourselves; an unofficial, unspoken uniform emerges when we start to be a part of a certain group, or perhaps it’s before then, it starts when we want to be a part of a certain group. This group can be something really small like going out with a friend, e.g. I have certain friends I will never wear my Birkenstocks around, or on a bigger scale i.e. I am a twenty-something year old Melbournian who eats overpriced redux-es of everyday food; last call for a kbab? Or even bigger, I am a woman.

It’s interesting too, that unless you wear an official uniform or work corporate 9-5, that we style certain items a certain way for work or going to see our grandmas, which of course makes sense but sometimes I find myself dressing for a role, such as ‘teacher’ (which is my profession, I am not just obsessed with shopping at Sussan’s miss), ‘woman out on hens night’ (playsuit anyone?) or the aforementioned sneakers and culottes combo.

Clothes may help us say who we are, or who we are pretending to be. And it goes without saying they also help us identify our group, which is why I am a big fan of your outfit being the subtle middle finger… but we can talk about that another time.

Tash

P.S Hi Vic (whose idea this topic was and who text me about it whilst I was out for Kbabs).

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