The pandemic has given us a lot to deal with. Loss of life, economic upheaval, rising rates of addiction and suicide, cities, both small and large, with boarded up stores and metaphorical tumble weed instead of cars rolling down Main Street. Indeed, an overwhelming list of seriously scary shit. This article isn’t about any of that stuff. Shockingly, it’s about me and one of the embarrassingly infantile issues I’ve been dealing with that has plagued me since the start of this … well, plague.
In the days I now refer to as, “The Old Normal”, I never gave a passing consideration to my personal comfort when dressing for the day. Indeed, I was puffed with pride that my Mother’s mantra, “Beauty Takes Pain” could be parroted on-demand by my daughter by the time she was 3. However, with the dawn of “The New Normal” – and the corresponding realization that none of us were going outside our homes anytime soon – I quickly decided to put together something I romantically (and in retrospect, ridiculously) regarded as my “confinement capsule collection”. It amounted to a uniform that was minimalist chic and consistent with my personal brand. Easy.
Ridiculously achievable, the building blocks of this uniform consisted of a black cotton blend shirt (never 100% cotton as that fades and I abhor when my blacks don’t match) in the form of a fitted crew or turtleneck depending on the weather, black leggings in stretch leather or the perfect ponte, a flat over the knee black boot -like the Stuart Weitzman 5050’s and a black cashmere duster or turtleneck sweater as needed for added warmth (I run cold). Plan in place, I made sure I had enough fresh new units of each piece of my daily uniform to account for loss (daughter theft), laundry and/or ambient laziness. And thus, I proudly considered myself ready to meet these “unprecedented times” in some semblance of style.
Here is where my story gets seriously sad. When the rubber hit the ready-to-wear road (or, my couch to be more accurate), that four piece outfit (six if you count bra and underwear and no, let’s not go there) was way more effort than Pandemic Jolene was willing to put in!!!! *At this point, I will pause so everyone reading this can look in the mirror and feel good about themselves for their apparent ability to slay-it in their old yoga pants.* Yes, I was pathetic. My new work -from-home-wear knits and leggings all had the tags still on – again, we are talking about LEGGINGS, not bespoke chainmail!!! My perfectly polished boots, still with the stuffing they arrived in, stood sentinel and slighting in the closet with my other shoes . I was living day in and day out in my pajamas. I didn’t even care if the top and bottom matched. Who had I become? Was sloth a symptom of this sickness specific to me? My “inner critic”, as my shrink calls it (or the sad and inconvenient truth, as I call it), was regaling me with the many reasons for my wretchedness and highlights of my hypocrisy.
And then I found ONEPIECE.
Developed in Oslo in 2007, the original “Onepiece Jumpsuit” (picture a baby’s hooded onesie whose specs have been given a more fashionable and flattering facelift) in one fell swoop, manages to keep a person comfortable enough for the couch and put together enough for let’s say – a pandemic. A standout celebrity favorite, since its inception, Onepiece’s line has grown to include multiple new silhouettes (all variations on the core concept) in a wide range of fabrications, colors and designs. Talk about shifting gears – now with the help of Onepiece, I can even look like a Formula One Driver having just crossed the finish line in Monaco without even leaving the house. Hello…awesome!!!
As we embark on the long and winding road that will take us to a world that looks more like “precedented times” than a pajama party, I am grateful to Onepiece for helping me transition back to life amongst my fellow man in style!!! Remember… baby steps 🙂