After the Super Bowl last night, I was hit with a soul-crushing realization: I was going to be without football for a very long time. What was I going to do? How did I live my life without football before? What was going to take up hours upon hours that I allotted to collision-based entertainment? Aimless and lost, I turned to my usual rotation of websites to find entertainment, to find some sort of guiding Northern Star that would show the way to filling the perennial void in my life. Clicking on over to thefashionspot, affectionately known as tFS and reliable eater of my time since I joined as a fashion-naïve highschooler in 2005, I wasn’t met with the comforting arms of thin, photoshopped models and garish makeup.
Instead of the safety net where trends may change but the impossible standards of beauty don’t, I was met with something that made me feel dizzy, weak and kind of ill.
Onesies. The same onesies that are worn by toddlers all around the world, are becoming a thing and they’ve been popping up everywhere, especially London, where it has become an “It” look.
I was so aghast that I began researching the trend, because it’s a sickeningly fascinating and I’m a masochist. We all know onesies and here in the US they’re a kitschy thing to don during the holidays while lounging around drinking hot cider, eating a bakery’s worth of Christmas cookies, and indulging in an off-key rendition of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”—which is totally okay, totally normal and, as long as it has an obnoxious pattern of snowflakes and/or prancing deer, totally acceptable. However, the European abomination isn’t about wearing it ironically and away from judging eyes, but outside…while you run errands…while you go out to dinner…while you try to interact with people you’re attracted to…as a positive fashion statement.
The Uggs of the one-piece fashion movement is a brand fittingly called OnePiece, based out of Norway.
Early one Sunday morning in 2007, Henrik, Knut and Thomas, three Norwegians in their twenties, fantasized about the ultimate chill-out wear that would be perfect for a lazy day at home.
They all agreed on the merits of the sweatsuit for recovering from a night on the town. “But without the tight waistband and the pressure to go jogging,” Thomas said. Knut had been staring at a light bulb when, eureka, it all became clear:
“Why not sew together a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants? Let’s make it so big that no one in their right mind would think of working out.”
“If we can skip the waistband, I’m all for it,” said Thomas. “But how are we going to get into it?”
“No sweat,” replied Henrik, “we’ll just put in a big zipper.”
And with that the OnePiece Jump In was born. The three friends dropped everything and invested all their savings to realize an idea they believed was unique and brilliant. They made the loose-fitting, all-in-one hooded sweatsuits in soft, thick cotton fleece in a wide variety of colours and patterns.
Leave it to a bunch of hungover college dudes to create this. Really, that says so much.
Before the world knew what was happening, anyone who was anyone with too much money was wearing the zip-up Snuggie. Robyn, the manboys of One Direction, Justin Bieber, Ed Westwick, Natasha Bedingfield, Rihanna, Heidi Klum, Florence Welch, Daisy Lowe, Cheryl Cole, Brad Pitt, and if we’re using the term “celebrity” loosely enough, Christina Milian and Perez Hilton, were all spotted in the fleece jumpsuits that range in price from $159 to a staggering $289. Knut, Thomas and Henrik go onto say how surprised they were “when people started wearing the OnePiece at clubs and it became a fashion and lifestyle statement,” which makes me feel marginally better that they don’t even understand the glorification of something us Americans call the Forever Lazy.
They come in a wide assortment of colors and color combinations, hell, they even come bedazzled—as if you weren’t sold on the classiness of this trend, and has been compared to “being inside a teddy bear’s womb.” Sales have skyrocketed. How is it that this trend hasn’t been ridiculed into non-existance? According to Telegraph writer Harry Wallop in his onesie review, it’s because no one stops them. “Most pedestrians either don’t care that a fashion homicide is being committed under their noses, or think I am a lunatic who should be given a wide berth.” Wallop admits that the article of clothing is exceedingly comfortable and remarks that it reminds him of the very similar suit that Winston Churchill had commissioned for him so he could work through the night and still feel at ease. He then comes to his senses and says, “Churchill, of course, had Nazi bombers as his excuse for a lapse in sartorial standards. I have nothing save the disintegration of Western civilisation.”
Do I really need to go into why this is so horrible? It’s infantile, it’s tacky, it’s fugly as hell, it’s lazy, and I shouldn’t even be justifying my hatred. It’s like those horrible velour Juicy Couture track suits that were so big a few years ago, except for all-in-one and unisex. What’s next? Diapers as booty shorts?
It’s…it’s only a matter of time before they’re stateside, after all, Jean Paul Gaultier has already started incorporating the look into his latest lines. I’ll start preparing the eye-bleach now.