Suzanne Harrington: Life’s too short for bras and zips and waxing
I’m holding an oddly shaped garment at arm’s length, squinting at it. It looks uncomfortable, and dimly familiar. Oh yes. A bra. I haven’t really seen one since March 2020. How do they work again? Do I have to?
Where I live - a Corkonian replanted in Brighton - bras are being dug out of hibernation, along with tight frocks and dangerous shoes. Not for nightclubs – they’re not open yet – but for brunch. Queues outside lazy brunch places look like midnight queues by velvet ropes, except in blinding sunshine; over excited, over dressed people grappling with their Covid apps to check in for overpriced toast. The beach looks like Ibiza styled by Primark. Nobody is in Ibiza – they’re all here.
