by Gordon Holmes
Since Christmas, I have been spending most of my evenings in the company of a polar bear.
Soft, white and furry, with cute little ears - and quite a vicious roar when annoyed...
No, this isn’t some glacier mint overdose induced hallucination, rather that the latest fashion ‘craze - and I use that word deliberately - has penetrated the sanctity of my humble abode, those four walls behind which I can usually hide away from the madness of the world.
Yes, S has a onesie.
In her defence, she did not personally seek out said item, and it was not something she had ever previously professed a desire to have, but it was a Christmas present from her parents, or more specifically I imagine, her mother, who has a penchant for ‘unusual’ gifts - if it is furry, speaks, makes a noise or moves she can’t resist, and if it does all of the above then the till will be ringing before you can say “that’s a dog shaking its head and singing ‘How Much is The Doggie in the Window?’”
S says her onesie is cosy and comfy and that’s fair enough, even if I can’t help thinking there’s a sheepskin rug lying on the sofa opposite me.
Now I can just about understand the attraction of wearing these hideous creations in your home, if indeed they are comfortable and warm, while lounging about in front of the television of an evening.
Dressing up like an oversized infant is fine if that’s what you want, after all, I am a great believer that people can get up to anything they like behind the privacy of their own door...
But is it necessary to do so in the guise of a giant dog, or donkey or rabbit..?
Why is there is a desire to pretend to be an animal anyway? Is it some primeval genetic leftover, harking back to the days when you had to wear animal skins to keep warm - though I’m sure they didn’t leave the ears on.
You never see animals wanting to dress like humans, they’re far too sensible, except for those poor creatures who have no choice and are forced by their owners to wear trendy ‘togs for dogs’.
I mean, I can’t imagine Bugs Bunny settling into his burrow of a night and slipping into his Elmer Fudd onesie, nibbling on a carrot and practising his ‘Pesky Wabbit’ impression.
Now I know there are perfectly ‘sensible’ onesies, which are just patterned or colourful, but that doesn’t stop them from looking simply ridiculous on supposed grown human beings.
Ah, you may ask, aside from the co-habiting polar bear, how do you know what people look like in their onesies?
Well, for a start, in the days immediately after Christmas, my Facebook page was full of nothing but people posting pictures of themselves or other people wearing their new onesies, to such an extent that I was beginning to think I was the only person left who didn’t own one.
But it’s even worse than that. Because what began as a silly fad, confined to the home, has started to creep into the outside world as for some reason people have now decided it is acceptable to be seen in public wearing their jammies.
Well I’m sorry but no, it’s not, stop it now please.
I can just about accept it if you are going in the car to drop someone off and coming straight back but there have been reports of people doing their weekly shopping in their onesies, the aforementioned S was aghast to see a woman dropping off her child at school (walking) while attired in said garment, and I myself had to do a double-take when I spotted a couple in the queue at McDonalds, quite happily ordering their Big Mac meals while dressed, without a hint of irony, in leopard and zebra print.
Why does this disturb me so? I have no idea, it just does, but perhaps it’s because I adopt the ‘au naturale’ approach to nightwear (apologies to anyone eating while reading this) - the ‘noughtsie’ if you like.