When I was growing up in Auckland in the 1980s, my relationship with clothing was all about utility. Clothes needed to be comfortable and keep me at the right temperature. They should work for climbing trees, or riding horses. I had a very clear picture in my head of how I wanted to look. Insouciant, lanky – a tomboy. Someone who didn’t care about clothes. Someone who had interesting stuff in their pockets.
I particularly hated getting dressed up. If it was unavoidable, I would dodge mirrors. When I did look, dressed for an occasion in clothes picked out by my mother, I saw a girlish girl with fluffy hair. A girl in a hideous pale yellow mohair sweater and a skirt with no pockets at all.
