Disaster: When everyone wears same outfit as you

Last weekend I was going through my wardrobe with the intention of decluttering when I came across an African print unisex shirt I bought towards the end of last year, and could not help laughing at the memory that it elicited.

I tend to shy away from bright colours, favouring grounded (I refuse to use the word dull) colours such as black and other dark shades, but I found myself drawn to this yellow and blue shirt that looked so cheerful on the display window on a rather dull day.

On a whim, I got into the shop along Biashara Street in Nairobi’s CBD and bought it. The next day being a Friday when most companies allow their employees to dress down, I wore it, drawing compliments from several people such that I could not help patting my back for making such a good investment, making a mental note to next look for something pink.

Anyway, later on that day, being end month and being typical Kenyans that tend to live large the first week after payday and then weep for the remaining three, a colleague and I decided to ditch our regular haunt and treat ourselves to an expensive lunch elsewhere.

Food joint

And so we headed to a newly-opened chic-looking restaurant on a more affluent part of the CBD. We could not wait to order from the menu, which someone had assured my colleague was to die for.

But on setting foot into the food joint, I immediately realised that something was terribly wrong. All the waiters, and they were many, were wearing my bright-and-cheerful-as-the-sun African print shirt. Same colours, same material, same cut. I would have turned around and walked out had my colleague not laughed with mirth and teased me about lacking a sense of humour.

As I stood there looking incredulous, a waiter looking quite elegant in my shirt approached us with an amused smile and showed us to an empty table, quipping, “Madam, naona wewe ni wetu…” eliciting loud laughter from my colleague, who was obviously determined to have fun at my expense, joking that I should pretend I worked there and collect money for meals from customers and then take off.

But I generally don’t sweat the small stuff, and even though I kept getting amused glances from other patrons, I did enjoy my lunch, though I was relieved when no one ordered from me.

Clothing stalls

That incident reminded me of the year that clothing stalls, which we like to call “exhibitions”, made a debut in the country, mushrooming all over towns. The businesses must have been getting their clothes from the same person because every other stall sold similar clothes. The result was women walking into their places of work only to find four co-workers wearing the same outfit, or worse, attending a wedding and discovering that the slinky gown they had specifically bought for this day to show off wasn’t as special as they had thought because 10 other invitees were wearing a photocopy of it.

I recall owning a skirt that was christened “Kenya Uniform” years back because every other woman in the country, young and old, owned one. Wearing the same clothes as someone else is not a matter of life and death, but I think it is such scenarios that have, to some extent, elevated second-hand clothes since you’re unlikely to stumble on someone else wearing what you are.

The writer is Editor, Society & Magazines, Daily Nation [email protected]