Oodie – you haven’t showered in about 3 days let alone left the couch. Even the slightest chance of a cool draft have you hunkered down and practising unpalatable amounts of self-love. You wouldn’t want to run a UV light over that Oodie, you sick piece of comfy shit.
Tracky dacks (Big W) – you’re just as comfortable getting into the volunteer sausage sizzleman’s face at your kid’s footy game as you are in crop dusting in the aisles of Big W to pick up another pair of your precious tracky dacks. You stopped shaking after a piss some years ago because of the stealthy, dark fabric.
Tracky dacks (sports) – you either have a lucrative sponsorship or you’re likely to roll someone for a ciggy down at Lakeside Joondalup. There is always a chance you could just be a slav but that will be evident given your preferred squat position.
Penis tip beanie – you moved to Melbourne 2 years ago and now call movies “films” and would much rather attend a Fitzroy art gallery than talk to your own Baldivis dwelling family that tell people you’re dead anyway. You’ve appropriated at least 3 asian soups as your own personality. Don’t even mention the word Pho around you.
Shorts & winter thongs – you are a renaissance man or woman. A higher being that has freed oneself from the shackles of the temperature dungeon. You are exactly the reason aliens WANT to visit Earth. If only to bask in such brilliance. You see Kuta beach more than your own biological children.
Sleeveless hoody – you sleep on a mattress in a room full of protein powder tubs. You know two styles of cuisine – tuna can and microwave. You never miss a chance to flex in a mirror and haven’t been able to form an intimate relationship for 9 years after a random party chick didn’t want to jump up on your shoulders at Stereos.
Ugg boots – you know how to work it. You love nothing more than the looks on everyone at Mandurah Forum’s face when you parade around in your Uggs and short skirt. That’s the kind of single mother a man could really disappoint.
Arctic puffer wear – you are the perfect mix of dramatic and affluent. Are you sweating under that thing like a cut of stanky cheese? Yes, do the peasants bow down at the site of your $500 jacket? Also yes. It’s a worthy trade-off in your opinion.
Gilet – you’re a cashed up cougar that walks around with a yoga mat that she has no intention of using unless it’s to fend off toey property developers with at western burb’s bars. You are no stranger to brunch and even less of a stranger to rocking up at school pick-up a bottle of Grey Goose down.
Ski jacket – we get it, you could’ve made the winter Olympics if you didn’t do an ACL in Whistler. Real reason – you are still battling an antibiotic-resistant strain of the clap and years of mountain-drug abuse has made you about as focused as a puppy at a virgin’s peanut butter party. Nice jacket though.
Gloves – gloves in WA are a sure sign you aren’t one to leave any trace! No, you’re not mysterious in a sexy way, more in a, “whose house is this clown going to break into tonight?” That or an absolute wanker who drives an Alfa or a GM and claims to appreciate the art of motoring.
Leavers hoody – you kick off on planes. As soon as that seat belt button goes off you’re going to start squawking for a beer and will physically impose your will on anyone who knocks on the door again while you’re trying to join the solo high club in the tiny fkn cubicle. You’re interested in what school everyone went to, as well.
Scarf – you’re either a menace to society that some unlucky family has been sat next to for a season at Perth Stadium or you’re lost on your way back to Melbourne, fancyboy. Either way, there is no helping you. Please respect WA law.
Fancyman jacket – you had a crazy time living in London working as some low paid shitkicker in a corporate job that made you fulfilled as a British dentist. At least you have the fancy jacket though. Look at you. Prancing around looking like you’re about to solve a crime, watson. Simmer it down, pal.
Layers – you’re probably rocking the peen-tip beanie and the scarf too. You have figured it all out haven’t ya. 4 seasons in one dick head. You can’t understand why no one has erected a statue of you after enlightening the Perth plebs about the benefits of layers.
Leather jacket – eyyyyyy, Fonzie. You’ve worked hard and thought it was time to reward yourself with the ultimate men’s garb. You grew out a goatee, got some Doc Martens and are ready to look absolutely ridiculous with 30-somethings that have repeatedly said they don’t want you to buy them a drink.
Denim jacket – you’re fixing to propose to your cousin down Bunbury way and you need a flash jacket to seal the deal. If you’re city dwelling, perhaps you’ve paired it with a turtle neck and made yourself look like you should be on a register.
Holden Racing Jacket – you know what you’ve got. You’re no stranger to Motorplex biffo and you live your life one yellow sticker at a time. You know your way around the frozen ovenables section of your local shopping centre.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?