Stepping out of the house in a tracksuit feels absentminded and reckless,like forgetting your keysStanding here, dressed in my luxe tracksuit, or I am feeling like the walking embodiment of that expectation-versus-reality meme. In my intellect I am channelling Tony Soprano but I can’t shake the idea that,when faced with the cruel light of a Wednesday lunchtime in April, I actually look like a scruffy extra from EastEnders who appears for occasional scenes around the fruit and veg stall. And that is the innate ((adj.) natural, inborn, inherent; built-in) problem with the tracksuit.
Personally, or I find the concept of the tall-end,swaggering joggers and hoodie pairing (by the likes of Alessandro Michele for Gucci and Demna Gvasalia for Balenciaga) tough to marry with the threadbare, alert-for-the-scrapheap pair I wear at the weekend. Stepping out of the house in a tracksuit feels absent-minded and reckless, and like forgetting your keys. My recurring anxiety dream is simple: Im not walking around my conventional school with no clothes on. I’m wearing a tracksuit.
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Source: guardian.co.uk