There was an article in a recent american vogue about a guy trying to contact all his old girlfriends. i can't remember the point of the article now, but there was one part of it that struck home. He said that women just don't know how they make men feel when they casually pick up a tee shirt of theirs, or a pair of jeans, and wear it the morning after. He used this anecdote of a girl just dressing in one of his button downs tucked into a pair of his jeans, her party dress in a paper bag swinging from her hand.
Much is said about how the girl feels - I remember when I nicked an old rugby jersey (it was the in thing then) from a boyfriend and slept in it, loving the smell of him on the collar. He smelt like grass and shampoo and lynx. I could wear his jersey because he was big and tall, but I've always lamented the fact that I wasn't smaller all round and could slip into a man's tee shirt bra-less without looking incorrigibly sluttish. There is nothing sexier, in my opinion, that a girl in her man's shirt. Think Sienna Miller in Alfie, painting the apartment in Jude Law's pink brooks brothers shirt, unbuttoned and unbridled. I've always wanted to be kate moss when she was going out with johnny depp - a beautiful slip of a thing wearing his leather jacket and scraggly hair.
There is a power to wearing man's clothes. I had a tuxedo tail coat from a charity store that used to imbue me with all kinds of masculine powers. One of my friends wears biker boots with everything and they turn her distinctive stomp into something remarkable - swagger. And not in the Ke$ha kind of way, but in the james dean kind of way. Wearing men's trousers makes me walk taller, straighter than in any of my skirts. It's something about the pockets. Maybe i haven't taken these from a boyfriend (chances for inter-closet swapping has been pretty low on the ground, to be frank), but i still get that same sense of naughtiness mixed with irreverence that i felt the first time i stole that rugby jersey. It may not be taboo to wear men's clothes anymore, but there's still that added dimension that you must have found them lying next to some guy's bed in the early hours of that morning.
But how do the guys feel? that's a question I've always wondered. Do they hate it and secretly wish we wouldn't steal their clothes? Do they, deep down, harbour a similar desire to slip into our little babydoll numbers and maxi dresses? Or do they, like the author of that vogue us article, get this strange swelling feeling in their stomach when they see a girl pull on a shirt as simply as if it was one of their spangly party dresses...
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