I love aprons. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a waitress just so I could wear one. Waitresses seemed so cool and in control. They carried so many awkward things at once, and always with a smile. Since then I’ve had more than a couple of jobs where an apron was required, and I now know they have little to do with multi-tasking prowess, and yet I maintain my affection for the domestic accessory. I thought about writing a love letter to the humble apron, but Serah-Marie, our editor-in-pants, had a more immersive idea: “Why don’t you wear them and write about that instead?”
It seemed simple, but when I mentioned it to a friend of mine he was taken aback.
“Aprons?!” he scoffed. “You’re going to wear aprons…outside?”
“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No…I guess not. I mean, would it be weird if a butcher walked around wearing his apron outside?”
I paused. My initial confidence in this social experiment cooked up in the safe stylish world of WORN began to waiver. To put me at ease, my first sartorial choice was a sentimental one. I picked a blue-fringed floral apron I had worn as a kid in my Grandparents’ backyard. (I was pretending to be a waitress and “taking orders.”) I checked my reflection in the mirror. I liked the way my new accessory looked over my jeans and light cotton tunic. I thought: “Yes! This works.”