By NICKY CHAMP
I’m always excited about the spring fashion injections dropping in store. It’s a time when the rain and cool weather is coming to an end (c’mon Sydney), we’re embracing more colour and florals and we can retire the black opaques and long pants for another year.
Except this year, there’s one garment that’s making me feel inferior, old even. I spot it in store, handle the gorgeous sheer and textured fabrics then move past with a resigned feeling: I just can’t wear them anymore.
I never thought I’d be writing a post about how much I want to wear a crop top in my 30s, but fashion has a weird way of making you want things you’d never ever consider wearing or revisiting again.
I shamelessly wore a Hound Dog crop top and low slung Dangerfield flares at every social opportunity I had in my teens and 20s, which to be honest wasn’t many. Fast forward a decade and post-baby – can you still call it that if it’s been three years? – my stomach muscles are not even slightly toned. When I’m upright it’s not so obvious, but as soon as I sit down several rolls appear, even when there’s no jeans or tight pants digging in. Which makes wearing a crop top somewhat limited to only standing occasions. But you know what? I don’t care, I’ve decided I’m going to wear them anyway. Damn you fashion and your prescriptive body shapes.
