It looks as though Autumn decided it would come to the ball this year after all. Only two months late, but who’s counting? I read in the paper on the weekend that Sydneysiders are taking lack of punctuality to whole new heights, so clearly the seasons can’t be held accountable for following the trend.
Personally, I’m glad that the cooler weather has finally made an entrance. Indian summers are all well and good, but they’re hot. Six months of hot is enough. Two extra months just gets irritating.
Plus, lower temperatures mean the season of the Flannelette Pyjama (note the singular, a leftover from my heady days at Vogue in the 90s), proper, is now upon us. I admit to having been in my Flannos for some time now. Hoping. Even sweating a little. But no more. Now I’m just sublimely comfortable.
There is nothing better than coming home from a long, hard day and slipping into an elasticised waist and soft, brushed cotton. I don’t know where you stand on the Cartoon Print when it comes to Flannos, but personally I’m not a fan. I like an Old Skool stripe or spot. Probably because I’m a Old Skool kind of girl. Or just old.
Admittedly, I do start getting into my Flannos earlier and earlier as autumn turns into winter. Until it gets to the point where I’m getting back into them almost before I get out of them in the morning. But I’m okay with that. In my ideal world, we’d all wear Flannos all the time. There’d be no body image issues because we’d all look like TeleTubbies. There’d be no road rage, supermarket rage or walking-behind-slow-people rage because we’d all be so comfortable and relaxed we wouldn’t care. We could even look cool, as the gorgeous Parisian in the pic (by The Sartorialist) shows (yes, those are pyjama pants).
I suspect my championing of pyjamas as all-day wear began with my freelancing career around 10 years ago. When freelancers joke about working from home in their pyjamas, they’re not actually joking. I had a friend drop in at 1pm one day and dissolve into hysterics because I was still wandering about in my night attire. I think he was more amused by my complete embarrassment at having been sprung… Or possibly my attempt to explain to him that it was ‘leisure wear’. Yep, that might have been it.
Speaking of leisure wear, I tried, just days ago, to tell Sister B that pink-spotted pyjama pants and a t-shirt constituted a fashion statement due to the ‘leisure wear’ being so ‘on trend’ this year. She informed me that getting in to one’s pyjamas while people were still attending one’s lunchtime barbecue could in no way be regarded as leisure wear. In my defence, there were only family members present, it was cold and I ate too much to cope with the button on my jeans. And my t-shirt was very cool.
What’s not leisurely about that?