My Gorman skirt

I recently Marie Kondoed my wardrobe. While it was not too difficult thanking my tattered cardigan for its service before placing it in the bin, I did pause for reflection when it came to my old Gorman skirt. It’s been with me through the good times and the bad. It’s like a reliable, loyal friend, always there. Someone who picks you up if you’re morose, who gives you zip when you’re flat. Whenever I want to feel alive, to feel good about the world I pull it out, put it on and pull it up. It’s splashed with geometrical shapes in bold colours. It’s not unlike the city of Sydney, bright, lively, unabashed and a bit out there. Like the thriving metropolis, the skirt knows it’s good and I always feel good whenever I wear it. As my brother says, ‘when you look good, you feel good and when you feel good, you do good’. 

Do you have moments when a song plays on the radio and it conjures flashbacks in your life? David Gray’s Sail Away or any song from White Ladder for that matter always reminds me of travelling around southern Africa in a big blue truck on an overland tour. What a magical experience it was driving through lush green, followed by sparse, earthen terrain accompanied by an awesome, and diverse troupe. It’s a surreal moment, like you’re living in one of those picturesque glass baubles which, if you turn it upside down, snowflakes fall covering the structures inside in white, creating a picture-perfect image. 

This sense of deja vu I feel when I look at my skirt. Each quadrant with its different sections and colours reminds me of different points in time and parallels with life events. We recently visited the digital Van Gogh exhibition at the Loom in Melbourne. The skirt’s patch of blue splashed with dots reminds me of his Starry Night. The dots on the skirt are white but you can just imagine them swirling, like a boulder in an avalanche, growing with every spin, being hauled along by the gravitational pull of the mountain. As they do, the boulders, or dots rather, become yellow, golden, almost like they’re sparking from the friction. 

The red of the vintage skirt reminds me of my passion for the mighty Melbourne Demons. The geometric shape is not unlike the chevron design of the famous guernsey of the world’s oldest professional football club, the famous V jutting into the royal navy shirtfront. Inspired at a young age by my dad and the ferocious play of Garry Lyon who would attack the ball like his king-of-the jungle namesake, I would sit enthralled at the spectacle, completely wrapped up in the emotion, in the tribalism and the aura of the MCG. 

The lime green and brown represent the deciduous autumnal leaves as they transition from their green palette to the golden spectrum. This I observe throughout the year on my weekly runs around Centennial Park, an exercise (pun intended) in glorious contemplation and endorphin enhancement. Transition, time and change is seasonal and captured in the swish and flow of the silk.  

Of course you can mix and match tops too. It’s a skirt you can dress up or down. Feeling neutral and summery then a white loose tee can be the way to go, a little bit more formal and the black tight fitting tank always seems to do the trick. One skirt, multiple personalities. It’s a Rubik’s cube of scenarios, swap blue out for navy, switch lemon for red. Wear a flat or throw in a heel. The skirt can be what you want it to be and you can shape your own narrative. Gorman is clever in that its designs also serve as its branding. If you see a bight, lively and often geometric patterned garment, odds are it’s probably Gorman. Its designs, colours and collaborations are iconic, renowned. Just like the company, we can too brand ourselves on a daily basis. How we dress can sometimes represent our own brand. Are we ready for a day of comfort, assertiveness, power or casual observation. With my Gorman skirt I can be all these things. 

I clearly have an attachment to the first purchase. But we’re also meant to move on in life. So I bought another Gorman skirt. It’s not every day I buy new apparel, clearly. It’s an expensive exercise and to be honest, probably much to my boyfriend’s relief, I’m not much of a shopper. I think it’s been about eight years at least between Gorman skirt purchases. The new one is softer, more flowy, perhaps it’s reflective of my advanced years, that as I’ve grown older, my perspective on issues is less defined, my general approach less structured and perhaps, representative of this, some patterns of colour, aka, thinking, seep into others, like something of a Venn diagram or a putsch between ideals. The lines are less defined, the colours are more integrated, as opinions change and you realise that you can be flexible and not necessarily wedded to one course of action. Stances can change over time. As I’ve aged I’ve come to realise the more you know, the more realise you don’t know and I’ve tried earnestly to read about subjects and from sources I would usually not actively seek. 

Sorry Marie. I disagree with you on some elements of tidiness and its virtues. Some things are just meant to be retained and treasured. You can take the skirt from the girl but the designs, the imprinted memories, so prescient, are everlasting and embedded within the wearer. They bear all the hallmarks of life’s wonderful journey. It’s all of it, the sections so tattered that moths take a shine, to the sequinned and glamorous, the bold and the muted patches that collectively spark joy in their own wondrous way.