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We’ve all got at least one (well I hope we all do, or that makes me a bit odd)…a comfy but hideous cardi, that we hide from the world. Generally it’ll be ancient. It probably has holes. It might even smell a bit. And we would never, ever, ever be seen wearing it in public. Not even dead. But we just can’t let it go.
With me, it’s a cream Ralph Lauren zipper cardigan-come-hoodie – which sounds ok, but it’s not. It’s sooooo not my style. Or colour. Or brand. And it certainly doesn’t do anything for me.
I got it in a sale in an outlet shop years ago for about 20 quid. I only bought it because I was cold, it was cashmere and erm, 20 quid. Now, a decade or so later, I am still wearing the revolting thing, despite a line of gaping holes along the shoulder seams, a huge one under an arm, a coating of bobbly bits and baggy cuffs and waistband (I’ve tried to kill it off with high temperature washes).
Why do I keep it let alone wear it? I have absolutely no idea. It’s not at if it holds any happy memories or I consider it my Lucky Jumper. I’m certainly not short on the old knitwear front – I have a wardrobe packed with some rather nice cardis and jumpers .
A pretty pink one with no holes; a rather fetching sky blue one, that’s as comfy as the horrid hoody; and even a nice newish peach one, ideal for a Scottish summer. Some of them actually suit me.
Nor am I am not a hoarder – I’ve read The Life Changing Magic of Tidying. I’m on first name terms with the women in the local charity shop. I have my own ebay seller account. So it really does defy logic that, when I am having a night in with wine, crisps and Netflix, the rotten Ralphy, over a hideous M&S vest, paired with some over-sized trackies (actually not that over-sized after the wine and crisps) is the only loungewear that ticks the box.
Despite it being a truly hideous hoodie – I won’t even answer the door to the Amazon-man in it – it comforts me and makes me feel relaxed and at home.
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