THE COMMUTE: WHAT TO WEAR

Coats, they are a necessity that I have tried to ignore for a long time.

However, since starting my new job, I have become part of the throng of peak-time commuters that bustle in and out of the city. Flowing like a school in and out of carriages, snoozing on strangers' shoulders and drifting along in the direction of coffee fumes. 

It has been anxiety inducing, a test of independence, exciting, tiring and absolutely freezing. The latter being of great inconvenience, my shivering a signifier of a newbie to the commuters' ranks. Bare ankles - pfft! No scarf - a mocking eye roll and a tut. And don't even bother to turn up if you're not wearing a coat that at least trebles you in size. 

You have to show them that you're committed to this commuting lark. That you're not only willing to hoist yourself out of bed every morning before sunrise, but that you're prepared, unfazed. Newspaper and magazine, bottle of water and flask of coffee, paperback and kindle, charger to plug into every possible device, battery pack to charge said charger, headphones and a variety of snacks for every potential pang of hunger or inevitable wave of boredom. It's the unspoken survival pack of the initiated. The duffel bag required to fit the contents of such also acts as both pillow and means of innocently barging people out of the way. Smile, shrug and signal to the large mass hung about your body.

(Candy stripes to disguise the bulging bag of commute 'necessities')

However, despite my meticulous kit, I am still yet to master the art of commute dressing. A concept further complicated by my now corporate office. You'll remember my groans of deciding what to wear in an office where 'anything goes', yet corporate wear has its own difficulties, especially when factoring in a two hour long commute.

Take Monday for example. I decided upon a pair of black trousers, tailored and cropped at the ankle. Despite the fact that they pick up fluff more avidly than a Dyson, they're smart and black trousers - the definition of corporate dressing. I paired them with with a crisp white shirt that came to about mid thigh and my patent, leopard print loafers. I strangled myself with a vibrant pink scarf and stuffed my arms into a plaid grey blazer. I felt smart, warm (except for my ankles which I'm pretty sure hate me) and like myself, a difficulty when in a sea of heavily starched shirts.

Once at the office, feeling rather smug with myself, I took off my coat to reveal my outfit, to the rapture of my co-workers (I joke), I made a quick trip to the toilets, where I was met with a shirt so wrinkled as to hasten a double take, this could easily have been mistaken for something plucked straight out of the bottom of the laundry pile. I was heavily judging myself. My pristine shirt was a rumpled mess of failure. I debated writing and wearing a post-it , to explain/defend my dishevelment, but thought that I could not blame the train journey. It was merely a visual of my beginner status in the commute crowd.

(Corporate Barbie - pretty & practical, right?)

I sat on the journey home, still in my crumpled shirt as a badge of dishonour, of my youth and my unpreparedness. I even thought about adding a steamer to my arsenal. I've also listed the pros of an outfit change like the host of an awards ceremony. Yet the margin for error poses too great a risk. I'm sure I don't need to remind everyone of my misfortune at discovering a pair of my unmentionables stuffed into a coat pocket after a mad dash one morning.

I feel that the only answer is trial and error. I have already written off my suede boots after an unfortunate downpour left me worrying if they, or I, would ever be the same again. I now have an umbrella permanently on my person and I'm still in talks with myself as to whether or not I should have a spare pair of trousers in my locker... 

So far, I feel I can battle the cold. My duvet like scarf aids greatly in that. The rain, however, remains my nemesis. So wet and all encompassing with its generous soakings. All fashion bets are off when the clouds release so enthusiastically. If wellie boots were work wear appropriate, I'd wear them to avoid sodden feet and waders in a bid to never have to unstick myself from drenched-through trousers again. Yet, alas, I only know this now after having lived, and sat, through it. I'm wondering if Mercury was in retrograde that day...

I look to my peers during such misfortunes. Most had floor length coats on, one had two coats on, which I thought to be rather grandiose, taunting my sodden self with its plural smugness; all had sensible boots. I knew then that I needed to invest in footwear that was made for walking and running and rain and frost and being late in and waiting around in and looking good in. And a coat, I needed one of those, maybe even two, just for the hell of it.

(Tiny bag, massive coat - to hide an abundance of layers & secret pockets)

And would you believe it, no sooner had I thought it, I had found them. Both heavily discounted, both aesthetically pleasing and most importantly, both worthy of the commute club.

I am now the owner of a commuters uniform. I have been inducted and I have seen the light. A pair of black Chelsea boots with stud detail about the edge of the sole and a grey calf length coat that's svelte in shape to allow nimble navigation of the crowds, yet thick enough to insulate against the perennial cold snap.

Now, though I may look the part, I can't quite claim to be the part just yet. There have been numerous missed trains and almost missed stops and I expect there to be many more. I have yet to find a suitable (read, not ugly) raincoat and am also debating adding a puzzle book to my stash. However, I've never forgotten my snacks. It's all about the priorities... 

(Images via: The Fashion Tag, whowhatwear, pop sugar.com)