Dubai's Desperate Housewife

Trials and traumas of a full-time mum in Dubai

Posts Tagged ‘dress sense

Why don’t I have anything to wear?

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Some mornings, it’s like Groundhog Day in our house: Me, standing naked in front of the wardrobe, showered, makeup on, wardrobe doors open to reveal 780 outfits bursting out, whining to DH: “I’ve got nothing to wear.”

DH, of course, has a variety of replies that range from “Darling, you look good in everything” to “Oh for god’s sake, stop buying so much crap”, depending on his mood.

Sometimes he even takes a photo of me standing there naked to make me hurry up – trust me, there’s nothing like seeing your backside in the full light of day to make you get dressed quickly (I hope he never loses his phone!).

But what I’d like to share with you on this topic is this: At the ripe old age of 41, I’ve suddenly realised why I never have anything to wear, despite having two full closets.

My lastest purchase. Incompatible with sandy school car parks, worse luck.

It’s because I still buy clothes – beautiful  clothes – for a lifestyle that I no longer lead.

My wardrobe is chock-a-block full of divine office clothes and glamorous evening-out clothes. I collect dresses, for example, like other people collect speeding tickets. I love them. I love the cuts, the fabrics, the colours. I buy them in colour blocks and in stripes; I buy shifts, gowns and sheaths; in linens, silks and shimmering satins.

And I buy high heels to go with them. Vertiginously high, strappy sandals by Vince Camuto, from Tod’s, and from Russell & Bromley. They’re beautiful shoes, delicately scented of leather. I know, because I get them out every now and then and I stroke them.

But do I wear them? The high heels and the dresses?

Hell no. I don’t wear them because my life – which consists largely of walking through deep sand in 45˚C to pick up two or three children, then slow-walking back through the sand lugging a couple of backpacks while holding on to a few sticky children – is not compatible with silk shift dresses and Vince Camuto heels.

What I need is a wardrobe of shorts, of vests and of flip-flops. But where’s the fun in buying those? That, friendos, I now understand, is why I have nothing to wear.

Crimes Against Fashion

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A curious thing happened today: I was in Marina Mall lazily discussing summer holiday plans over coffee with a dear friend and her DH while our children attended a birthday party, when we noticed a group of what could only be British tourists walk into the mall. How could we tell they were British tourists? They were wearing bikinis.

Oh yes. Bikinis. In a mall.

Sure, they had things over them, but so little that you could clearly see the bikinis. One had a white cotton shirt over the top – it barely covered her bum – and flip-flops; another had on a chiffony sort of beach cover-up – you could see straight through it, not to mention it was pretty short and she was a b-i-g girl. The other two were passable.

No sooner than my friend and I were gawping at them in shock than they were approached by a smartly dressed lady from mall management. A conversation about their clothing choices ensued, during which the one in the see-through ensemble was clearly trying to explain that her negligee was actually long enough. (Never mind that you could see THROUGH it whether or not she’d had a bikini wax.)

The passable two continued on into the mall while the others were eventually escorted by the mall management back up the escalator to their hotel. I’m guessing they were staying at the connected Address Dubai Marina as they returned about 20 minutes later, far more appropriately attired – one in a reasonable maxi dress, the larger girl, however, crammed into a shorter, badly fitting albeit less transparent, frock. Immediately they stopped to speak to mall staff again. What could be wrong this time?

‘Crimes against fashion,’ said my friend’s DH.

Written by mrsdubai

May 15, 2010 at 5:31 pm