Dog Hair Fashion

Recently, I was shopping online for leggings to wear to my office, which is ten steps from my bedroom. I told myself that I would also wear them to the gym, or at least to my basement where I would exercise in them. I tell myself lots of amusing stories.

What I noticed when I started putting leggings into my virtual shopping cart was that I was ordering a size larger than I used to wear when I commuted to an office in Manhattan … and that I was choosing colors that wouldn’t show dog hair.

This says a lot about how I’ve deteriorated during the pandemic. My body looks like the dough that pops out of those cylindrical containers that you slam on the counter. I’ve learned to work with this by stuffing it into body-contouring foundation garments that move things around and mostly keep them in position. Occasionally, I think that it was easier when I exercised and didn’t have to wear rubber suits under my clothes. Then I go online and look for fun colors in rubber suits.

I’m not the only person who gained weight during the pandemic. However, I’m the only person I have to dress, and it’s disconcerting that most of my pants are tight or don’t button at all. It’s the fashion now to wear the tightest clothing possible despite any lumps, bumps, or downright lava spills your body has. I am from a generation, however, that was taught to dress the body you have, which meant wear clothes that flatter your good points and camouflage your weak ones. I can’t possibly get on the flaunt-your-faulty-body train. I wouldn’t be sold a ticket, anyway, being a body shamer and all.

As for the dog hair, I’ve learned to breathe through my anxiety over it. I vacuum the rugs and crawl around on my hands and knees while scooping up tumbleweeds of hair that congregate in the corners of my house. I even vacuum my couches and chairs and run lint brushes over them. But, as anyone who has a shedding pet knows, it’s an ongoing and futile battle. You have to learn to tolerate some pet hair. There have been times when I’ve vacuumed a room only to have my dog stroll through and leave chunks of hair behind.

During a brief self-improvement phase this summer, I started driving my dog, Duke, to the dog park so we could both get some exercise while walking the trails. That phase ended abruptly when I saw the amount of hair in the backseat of my car. Duke has magnetic hair. As soon as he climbs into the back seat, his hair flies off his body and adheres to the seat he’s in, the back of the seat, the headrests, the back of the front seats, the interior car doors, and the floor mats. It happens so fast that you can’t see it occurring. My tan cloth seats turn into thickly covered hair mats in seconds. It took me hours to get his hair out of my car, and let’s be honest, you never get it all. There are always errant hairs that poke out of the seat covers. Those hairs are perfectly happy in the car’s fabric until a person wearing dark clothing sits down. Then the hairs decide to relocate immediately onto the hem of your black pants or onto the seat of your pants.

So, now I buy bigger clothes that match the color of my dog’s hair, which is blonde. This also explains why I wear white after Labor Day. It’s not a choice. It’s a necessity.