WFH: Work From Heck

Photography by ZGB.

“To put a fine point on it, I’m bereft.”

What is time anymore, anyway? It’s halfway through August, and the social events I would have attended to mark the seasonal passage have all been canceled. Autumn isn’t looking too good, either. Most of my wardrobe hangs idle in my closet, the rest sits folded in wait for brunch reservations that won’t be made, parties whose venues have long been closed to the public. Turning one’s phone on silent for half an hour can help refocus the mind on one’s own existential crisis, and then return not at all refreshed to the new normal of seeing no one else. It’s all terribly responsible and I support the cautionary measures, but leaves are already falling into the pool and pumpkin spice baked goods are showing up at the bakery. Hasn’t anyone told them that Halloween is canceled, too? To put a fine point on it, I’m bereft.

Fan though I am of a slim cut sweatshirt with chenille lettering on it, I also very much enjoy going outside when it’s sunny. The daily schedule is demarcated by dog walks, meal times, and weather. Aside from pajamas and workout clothes, I’ve tried to maintain some normalcy by dressing for the day. This looks much different at home than it does in public. Because I am too vain to be seen without any kind of eyeliner or mascara, a good pair of inexpensive sunglasses bought for brevity and now seeing their tenth season cover the horror under my eyes. Sunscreen has become my sole moisturizer indefinitely. A headband and clip contain the amorphous growth that I used to call a bob. Small golden horse shoe crabs attached themselves to my earlobes in May and won’t leave. Everything else just happens.

Photography by Dad.

Outfit No. 1: Morning

The dog has been walked, exercise has been done, and I’ve showered. The coffee is finished. With none of the dignity that Japanese women carry so effortlessly, I pair a yukata with espadrilles and stare into space. Worn traditionally with layers underneath and an obi, this unworthy gaijin has opted for only the light cotton outer robe, due mostly to the heat but also to ennui.

Don’t talk to me or my son ever again. Photography by Dad.

Outfit No. 2: Mid-Morning/Early Afternoon

The space between 10am and 2pm is a liminal period. It’s the hottest time of the day, and yet all I seem able to do is rearrange my potted plants. Yes, for four hours.

Form need not be sacrificed for function now that everyone is on board with loungewear as daywear. Sleeveless cotton tops are a seasonal staple as they allow for some tanning without any conspicuous lines. Stripes are always a plus. On my lower half I prefer a looser fit than leggings, and Rita Row’s pink seersucker trousers provide a healthy breeze. As for the boat shoes, well, I’m not even sure where they came from.

Photography by Dad.

outfit no. 3: Afternoon/Evening?

It’s too hot and I had to run an errand. The ancient pair of khaki chino shorts I’ve had since high school are an old stand-by for having to leave the house, and one of my favorite tee shirts by Stay Home Club got the message across before it was cool.

When I return home, the sun has gone completely from the backyard. I let the dog back out and she dashes after a rabbit. My carpet mules turned house shoes betray me, and I slide onto the stairs. One shoe goes flying, and the rabbit steals it. I awake later unharmed, but stay in the shade until nightfall, which keeps arriving earlier and earlier.

The days have already grown shorter, and the weather will soon change. Until wool envelops my life again and bundles us into an uncertain new decade, I’ll relish the days for which only one layer is necessary and socks are optional. If you need me, I’ll be mainlining Vitamin D out back.

Photography by ZGB.

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Zoë G. Burnett is a writer, film enthusiast, and ad woman based in Massachusetts. A lover of all things spooky and sparkly, she is currently working on her first book about witchcraft and classic style. Zoë is a Contributing Editor and The Attic on Eighth’s Film Columnist.