Could you wear the same thing for 100 days? I could, because I don’t care about clothes. I do not like how they look on me, a 46-year-old woman whose hobbies are cake and sitting still, so I stick to navy or green trousers in summer and black trousers in winter, coupled with plain tops and jumpers. I suppose that could be chic, or ingenious, a Zuckerberg-esque Silicon Valley hack, but it’s neither. It’s just a bit depressing.
Sometimes my best friend sends me links to clothes she likes – slinky silk dresses, pretty tops – and I say, “I can totally imagine you in that.” I can, but I can’t imagine myself in anything other than my tedious uniform. My ugly jumpers and toothpaste-stained trousers are “hate dressing” I fear, a widely reported pandemic phenomenon in which you wear things you do not even like as a sort of fabric protest against the general awfulness of everything.