By Erica Crompton
I used to walk from Stafford College to my parental home in Acton Trussell in spray-on Armani jeans and 5-inch heals. It took two hours and I never compromised comfort over style (if that is indeed what you’d call it in 1996 middle-England).
Soon after I went to study in London, where I continued working and studying (possibly also crying) for a decade – including half a year in New York working at a photographic agency. It seemed like I planned to live anywhere that my mum’s perfume bottle might have had listed on its box!
What the fashion capitals taught me is that dressing down can be nice, too!
Everyone I worked with wore trainers and I soon followed suit. In fact, I was in London in plimsoles for so long I can no longer do even one night at the races in heels without complaining (even with socks on which looked a bit kooky).
With hindsight, I’m unsure how I survived those 4-mile walks home from Stafford to Acton!
There was once a time I was a teenager I had actual nightmares about leaving home without make-up. Today you’d be lucky to catch me in any clothes other than tracksuits and a dressing gown. Even when I’m dressed I’ll pull my fluffy leopard dressing gown over me. It’s so warm and cosy.
I own just one pair of grey jeans from M&S I seldom wear as the zip makes them uncomfortable when sat down. Instead I prefer leggings or cashmere trousers or velour joggers.
I’ve gone from dressing up everyday in my twenties, to dressing down in my thirties – to dressing gown in my 40s.
I have no idea what comes next in my fifties? Given my incessant smoking and carefree attitude to dressing it’s likely I’ll be wearing an oxygen tank and not much else.
More devolution than evolution I think you’ll agree – but at least I’ll be an original.
