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The Pyjama Politics Of My Quarantine Squalor

As the eternal limbo of quarantine continues, adjusting to our new normal has meant that we’ve made some changes to our routines. Whether we’re working from home, funemployed, or just a perpetual introvert (who is generally thriving in the glory of state-approved social distancing), one change we’ve all made to our lifestyles whilst staying at home, is relaxing our everyday attire.

Gone are the days of skinny jeans, blistering boots and fitted suits. The entrapment of your underwire bra or the choking hazard that is the Armani necktie (that your dad vouched for at graduation) you wear to the your graduate, corporate hellscape (PwC, was it?) are sensations of the past. Instead, encouraged by the Chancellor of Exchequer, Dishy Rishi himself (nice grey hoodie you finance fitty), we relax our clothes and recede into the most comfortable aspects of our wardrobes: joggers, trackkies and everything you look kinda shit in (but feels great), whilst the apocalypse literally descends into us.

Some of us, like me, have taken the green light to dress more casually as an extreme sport, dressing solely in the most comfortable clothing of all time: pyjamas.

In the liminal space of quarantine, I don’t massively see the point of dressing in anything except my pyjamas. Can I sleep in them? Yes. Can I do yoga in them? Yes. Can I cook, clean & generally walk up and down two flights of stairs 60 times to pass the time in them? Yes. Depending on the pyjamas I’m wearing, I can easily pop to the shop too, looking squalor-chic for my Tesco self-checkout machine. So why bother really, to wear anything that doesn’t spark joy?

Of course, there are haters. People have said ‘well, I need to get pRopErlY dressed to start my day’ or ‘its unhygienic to wear the same clothes all day, everyday’. Firstly, don’t be deluded my friend, there are no such things as days anymore, we’ve all disintegrated into a time warp in which days feel like centuries and months feel like minutes. And secondly, I don’t wear the same pyjamas all the time (what? Did you think I was some sort of animal?), I have day pyjamas and night pyjamas that serve distinctly different purposes.

The day pyjamas are utilitarian, often carefully curated to impress my local Tesco self-checkout machine, arguably paired with bottoms that can endure long walks around the block. The day pyjama top is usually a trendy t-shirt (that I spent too much money on but can’t wear out any longer because I stained it with some form of food) or an unused gym top (that I’ve only ever really worn whilst sitting on my sofa and crying into my supernoodles). At night, I change into my night pyjamas as part of my bedtime routine, usually sporting the old t-shirt (that is so worn out that it feels like second skin) and cotton shorts combo into my restful slumber.

In essence, my quarantine squalor in the form of this pyjama politic has created routine, the very thing that staying at home has taken away from me. The fixated nature through which I continually change from day to night pyjamas has indicated that time is actually moving forward and I find comfort in knowing that quarantine will be over soon (though, what will I wear after?!?!?! AHHHHH).

By Warefta Murshed

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