Over the last 40 days I have been wearing Mumus around the home, in the suburbs and the inner city, on trams and on bicycles, to rehearsals and gigs, to pubs and clubs, to banks and even to the doctor’s surgery for a papsmear! And pretty much everywhere I go, I have experienced a sense of juxtaposition. Like being a piece of tropical island sky jammed into a concrete jungle jigsaw puzzle. But when I arrived at the Woodford Folk festival, set in a natural valley in sunny South East Queensland, it was like the Mumu had finally found its home amongst a sea of hippies, bongos, green hills and gum trees.
My large and light cotton Mumus were perfect for the hot sticky weather and not only that but they looked fabulous. It didn’t take long for others to join the Mu- movement along the way, which reached a climax on New Years Eve. There was a tribe of us, all Mumu clad, dancing under the stars to the Maloya rhythms of ‘Simangavole’. They are these four Island Divas from Reunion Island. And guess what they were wearing? You guessed it!
Thanks to one and all who joined in the Mu- movement. Mu- me, Mu- mu, Mu- you!
10 reasons for the 40 day Mumu Challenge… that aren’t true.
I am hiding a really bad rash.
I am putting on weight for a role.
I am starting a religion.
They are crotchless… need I say more?
I was visited by an Angel, she told me to do it.
To keep away the mosquitoes.
(Look at my watch) Because it is time.
In a past life I was a large Papuan woman. This is what the missionaries made me wear.
Went shopping at Spotlight and found this great material!
It is my camouflage… can you show me the way to the large couch made out of this pattern?
It is day twenty – six of the forty day Mumu project and only the most outlandish and oversized of my collection remain to be worn. At this stage of the game I am finding the project testing my will to leave the house. When one is wearing something spectacular and out of the ordinary to say… the shops or the pub, one attracts a lot of attention. But the kind of attention where the eye of the passer by is caught, their gaze lingers long enough for it to be noticeable, but they quickly dart their eyes away to avoid being accosted by the ‘crazy lady’ in the ‘strange clothing’. And that just about sums up my overall ‘look’ of late: CRAZY LADY!!!
To make things worse, I have just moved to a new town and I am meeting a lot of new people. At first I didn’t want my every social interaction to involve a conversation about the mumu, so more often than not, I didn’t bring it up, unless they did. But now that I am wearing the kind of garment that screams, ‘This woman is either the owner of 100 cats or she is going to tell your fortune then suggest swinging with your husband’, I inform whoever I am talking to about the Mumu Challenge in 10 words or less. Then try to steer the conversation to other things…
I think we can all agree that no matter what city you are in, Friday nights bring out the most tragic victims of fashion. And I am not going to pretend that I have not been a part of Paris Hilton’s army in the past, teetering around like a try hard drag queen in too high heels and spending the whole night refereeing the fight between my too tiny dress’s desire to climb upwards exposing my undies and the opposition’s attempt to continually pull it down and in the process threatening to flash boobies.
These tragic nights always take me back to my first ballet class. When mum sent me along in my leotard but little did I know that I had it on backwards. Hence I spent the whole class fishing the black Lycra out of my bum whilst trying to get the low scooping V- line neck to cover my nipples.
Well, those days are long gone and the Mumu is my answer to solving the Friday night fashion crisis. I would like to start an army of Mumu wearers to take on the Paris Hilton army. But it would be a peaceful protest. Come, victims of fashion, join me! Throw out those silly little frocks! The days of teenie bopping are over! Slip into a Mumu, put on some sensible shoes and dance your Friday night blissfully away!
When wearing a Mumu and a great matching pair of sunnies, I sometimes feel like I am in a disguise. Not just any disguise but a really comfortable one that leaves most people a little confused about where you come from or what kind of ‘look’ you are going for. In fact, that sums up how I often feel when getting around the town in my Mumu. It is like you have turned up to a costume party but you are the only one who really dressed up… everyone else has made a piss weak effort. And let’s face it, life is like a costume party. Everyone is trying to dress up as something or someone but no one will admit it. We live in a state of denial, pretending that we don’t really care about fashion. When in fact, it can take a long time to look like you haven’t given it any thought at all.
It would be arrogant of me, however, to think that I am the only one wearing a costume with pride. Take Peter, for example, the accordionist that I met on Degraves St. He’s not afraid to admit that life for him is a Bohemian Costume Party… Not only does he sport a fine moustache and accordion, he also runs his own costume shop! Inspirational.