Stay up to date with notifications from The Independent

Notifications can be managed in browser preferences.

FASHION : Try me: UNISEX SARONG

Bruce Millar
Thursday 11 May 1995 18:02 EDT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

I knew what would happen as soon as I got home and put on my smart new sarong. I was right. "That's really nice," said my wife, without batting an eyelid. "I'll have it." Ginny had a good weekend: she also took a fancy to my gardening shorts, and snaffled them. Are all women like that?

My sons, aged seven and four, took longer to notice - a good 45 minutes, which was much more than I had anticipated. "Dad, why are you wearing a skirt?" said Tom, the older one, as he finished his breakfast.

"It's not a skirt, it's a sarong," I replied. "Anything wrong with it?"

"No," he replied, losing interest. Clearly it wasn't all that shocking.

When I had put on the sarong - nothing more than a large rectangular swathe of cotton - I had attempted all sorts of wraps in front of the mirror, including a fancy between-the-legs origami based on peasant farmers I once saw in Thailand, but I ended up looking like an infantilist in a giant nappy. Frankly, there was no getting away from the truth that Tom had recognised: the sarong is a skirt, albeit a unisex one.

It helped that it was a sweltering hot Bank Holiday Saturday: the swish of light cotton around my knees transported me straight to Bali. The sarong is definitely a mood garment, perfect for lounging round the pool all day, sipping exotic cocktails.

But there is no pool, and I had promised to pop out and buy some bags of compost and a load of bricks to build a barbecue. Without thinking about it, I found myself changing into trousers. Perhaps I'm not man enough to go to the builders' merchants in a sarong, but I do live in south London. And where are you supposed to keep your wallet? A sporran might do the trick, but the couture clash would be horrendous.

So will I persevere with the sarong? I think so, but I'll have to find one so ugly that Ginny wouldn't dream of wearing it, and keep it for hot days in the garden and holidays in the sun.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in