“I’m sorry, we can’t go on like this. One of us has to change,” I announce to my husband as we stand by the front door, preparing to leave the house. No need to call the divorce lawyer just yet, though; this isn’t a judgment on our marriage. In fact, it’s a far more serious problem. We are dressed the same.
The shared “lewk”, if that isn’t overselling our functional ensembles, is an oversized navy cashmere jumper, faded Levi’s, retro Nike trainers and a utilitarian mac. It’s standard weekend normcore, or in our case, couplecore. A short, sharp bout of bickering — sorry, constructive conversation — ensues over who has to go upstairs and find something else to wear.
I have a penchant for androgynous, “boyfriend”-style clothing that means our wardrobes have overlapped in the past, but lockdown has made this situation critical. Working from home means that I can now rarely be bothered with the smarter touches that differentiated my look from my husband’s: a chain necklace, low-heeled boots, a midi dress.