An Ode to the Onesie
An Ode to the Onesie
My dear reader, I have long had a dark secret, one that only closest friends and family know. It is a truly upsetting and horrific secret, so if you are of a weak constitution I would implore you to stop reading now before it is too late. I do not want any of you poor chaps fainting on me after all, smelling salts can rather wilt even the most solid of waxed moustaches. Yes, that’s right, get yourself a strong brandy just in case. Ok, deep breath. I, a fashion lover and enjoyer of aesthetic pleasures, own a onesie. Not just one in fact, I own two, a panda and a lemur, with a tail.
Are you ok? That didn’t come as too much of a shock? Well I mean there is a picture at the top of this article of me in a onesie so it really shouldn’t have, but I am a one for melodrama.
I love my onesies. I wear one of them pretty much everyday, they are so comfy and warm, that especially at this time of year when getting breakfast in the old PJs is just a little nippy. I am aware that there will be people calling out “but dressing gowns!” and to them I say dress gowns do not cut it when you have cold legs and you simply want to sit and drink your tea without a draft shooting up to ones, well, never you mind. No, the onesie is the only way forward.
It is more than just the practicality of the onesie that draws me to it, after all I have already told you that I own animal themed onesies. I don’t have to, there are plenty of designs that don’t require you to look like you skinned an endangered creature, but I honestly love the element of fun that looking like an extra from Where the Wild Things Here brings. I think that it invokes a feeling of childhood in me. Not necessarily my childhood, or in fact any specific childhood, just the feeling of what that is and should be from all the stories you were ever told and all the images that are conjured when you think of idyllic childhoods that probably never existed. It’s allowing yourself to be part of that and all the comfort that brings. It’s acknowledging that you can’t always cope with what the world throws at us and we need to allow ourselves to have creature comforts, we need to have fun. Animal onesies are silly. They are fun. What’s the harm in that?
There is a joy in being silly in such a small way, and only for yourself. I see it as an act of rebellion against what the nay-sayers and joy-suckers of this world would have me become. It is a show of defiance against the idea that adulthood must be boring, or at the very least, that was must be grown ups now because we have hit a certain age. It is rallying cry for those who wish to find another way to be an adult, and no, that’s not just wanting to ignore responsibilities and live with our parents, it’s wanting those responsibilities to be worth it. It is my personal little paradise where I am pleasing no one but myself.
Ok, so I’ve waxed lyrical for long enough. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty. I would never for a second condone the wearing of a onesie outside. It just wouldn’t be proper. You wouldn’t wear your slippers to the shops unless it was the direst emergency – and if you would, we may have to have words – and the onesie falls into the same category. And honestly, you probably shouldn’t wear it all day, unless you are ill (something that is up to personal judgement of course), or really busy and getting dressed will cut into busy time. This is legitimate excuse that I have used in the past. Once to the postman. No, the onesie is an item for the most innocent private enjoyment, it is to protect you from the outside world, to create a safe place for you to curl up of an evening with a good book and cuppa before you watch the Strictly Come Dancing results. Perfect Sunday evening, reading yourself to take on the world on a dark, cold Monday morning, with the onesie as your battle-worn armour.
If I have not convinced you of the joys of the onesie yet, I fear I near will. All I can say is that the onesie is a pure mix of practicality, comfort and an undoubtable silliness. The onesie allows us a momentary reprieve from our harsh reality and allowing us to remember some joys of childish humour before we must face up to the troubles of this modern world.
Also I look like King Julian. You can’t take that from me.
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Written by Holly Rose Swinyard