I woke up the other morning with one of those weirdly clear memories from years ago; does that ever happen to you?
I was attending a party in a flat near the Anglican Cathedral in Liverpool, when I was a student. I was one of the ‘science crowd’, studying biochemistry, whilst most of the people were more ‘arty’ types. I had banged on the door with my fist and a chap had opened it. He was smoking a cigarette, which was lazily drooping from his mouth, and was wearing, somewhat oddly, a dressing gown. I will return to the idea of the dressing gown later.
I went in and enjoyed the evening, as one does, with lots of convivial conversation and relaxed listening to the vaguely ‘twangy’ music which was popular in the early 70s: Mostly played on some sitar-like instrument, I suspect. I recall a lot of joss-stick smoke and dim lighting, too. At some point, the chap in the dressing gown wandered through, smoking one of those rainbow coloured cigarettes which were all the rage, using a little cigarette holder. I remember asking a mutual friend what the dressing gown was all about and was informed that he was trying to ‘be like Shelley’. Clearly, a blank look crossed my face, as he went on, ‘Percy Bysshe, not Mary!’
Apparently Shelley (Percy Bysshe, not Mary) had swanned around in a garment rather like a dressing gown. This chap, who, if I recall correctly, was an English student, clearly had delusions that he might be somehow linked to Shelley and had found a suitably gown-like garment. I remember asking him why the sartorial stupidity was needed, to be told, in a rather pompous fashion, that he was ‘striving for partial intellectualism’ and it helped him to achieve that state.
Now, I remember at some point possessing a sort of satiny smoking-jacket thing, which I would lounge around in; I suppose it was a bit James Bond-ish, at least to me. But I had never worn one at a party and what’s more, I had never boasted about it, or tried to pretend to be some figure from literature’s past. Nevertheless, there he was, an aspirant Shelley, spouting verses from Ozymandias and hoping that the girls would be impressed.
The reason that I had this odd memory was, of course, that I have begun to wear a dressing gown. I awake early, and wander around outside with ‘she who must be obeyed’ and Eric the dog and the two cats. This is where the dressing gown comes in. What an immensely useful garment it is! Why, it’s wonderful! You just slip it on, tie up the little belt and Bob’s yer uncle!
It’s practical, inexpensive and has the distinct advantage, at least to my bleary vision and fumbling co-ordination first thing in the morning, of being button-less. Or zip-less, for that matter. It is simply wrap-around, warm and snugly comfortable. It can be worn to wander around in, even sleep in, if you forget to take it off before returning to bed. I recommend it highly. But you don’t need to pretend to be Shelley to wear one.