I was sparkly eyed and fresh out of exams. The birds were chirping. The sun was finally shining — but the wildfire season hadn’t started so there was no existential climate change dread. Life was great. But then—
My mother sat me down at the dinner table. She took a deep breath as she does every time she is about to tell me something earth-shatteringly important.
“Sidney, I really need to tell you something,” she said. “I thought you would figure it out by the time you turned 20, but it is clear to me now that you haven’t.”
“Yeah mom?” I blinked, innocently.
“You have terrible style. I think you need to change.”
May 6; Coronation Day. I was still trying to deal with the trauma from my mother’s shocking news when regal music wafted from the TV. I sat on my couch just chillin’ watching King Charles sit on his throne just chillin’, and I thought, “damn. He and I are the same.”
Then it hit me like a million dollar air-conditioned carriage. This 74-year-old skeleton is the solution to all my fashion faux pas! I whipped out a (fashionably) beaten up Moleskine notebook (the kind that every pained non-artist has) and designed the following fits.
The “is he still alive?”
I love historical dramas. What could be better than dressing like I just walked out of one?
King Charles is old. He is a historical drama. I bet when he was a kid, he still had to wear those long, old fashioned nightgowns, like that girl from The Ring. Why not just do that?
My summer class classmates will shudder in fear at the cold, pale, ghostly Victorian child that haunts their 9:30 a.m. online ANTH 206 class. Aka ME.
The “I just woke from my nap at 12:58 p.m. for my 1:00 p.m. class”
Like the unproblematic king, I always keep this backup outfit at my disposal for situations where I’ve already emailed-in “sick” twice that week (I know; sick as hell). Unfortunately, I am not permitted to describe this fit in detail. But if you need a little inspiration, take a quick field trip to Wreck Beach!
The drip
King Charles is a decorated man. He has medal after medal dripping off his body. One day, I too will be a drippingly decorated person, but until UBC gives me that damn BSc paper and floppy hat, I’m afraid that I have to make do with random objects around the house.
That participation trophy from grade 6 soccer? Throw it on my head!
Chocolate coin? Lick one side of it to stick it onto my chest!
My duvet? It looks just like the coronation cloak, and it also helps cover up the previous fit for legal reasons!
The UBC mom
Two outfits fall into this category:
- The mom who is terribly proud of the UBC child and wants the whole world to know. She wears a “UBC Mom” T-shirt, drinks out of UBC shot glasses and alternates between the “UBC Distressed Bum Print” sweatpants and the UBC x Lululemon yoga pants. Achieving this is simple. I’ll go to the UBC bookstore and buy everything that I would never buy as a student.
- The I-do-not-give-a-damn-where-my-trashgoblin-of-a-child-goes-to-school-as-long-as-it-gets-them-off-the-couch mom. To do this, all I need is to closely inspect my mom and then replicate everything she wears. If she wears it, then she can’t criticize the fit on me, right?
Update: I was wrong.
The trashgoblin of a child
Once again in my life, my mother has left me no choice but to retreat into the deep dark corners of my couch. I suppose I must spend the bulk of my twenties actively protesting the royals who have brought me so much anguish by donating $10 to Megan Markle and watching Suits on repeat until-
WAIT! That’s it! What my mom really wants from me is to wear a suit!
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