Playsuit: How does it work, and where’s the exit point?
Like anyone with a passport, an Instagram account, and a basic Rimowa collection, I like to think I’m a pretty well-traveled person.
On a recent weeklong jaunt to Mexico, where a mild winter was brewing, I packed practical things like turtlenecks, a shearling-lined denim jacket, Heat Tech leggings and… a playsuit.
Now, just to clarify, I’ve never worn a playsuit before. Largely because it looks best on willowy girls, with apple-sized breasts and Caesarean-required hips, and also because I thought they were kind of, well, just a little bit infantilizing.
I wore a lot of rompers as an infant, well into my early childhood—until it became apparent that I would have generous, child-bearing hips. At age 12, it was clear that I could birth twins with no need for forceps.
But when I found this peachy-pink linen version from Araw, the local label by willowy, slim-hipped Carla Sison, I was convinced that I had found the perfect playsuit for myself.
Instead of an overgrown infant vibe, I felt like a farmer in a great color palette. Like I could plant rice—and plate it nicely with edible flowers.
So, I figured, what better place to debut this playsuit than Guanajuato, the colorful, mountainous Mexican state?
And it paid off. There are many photos of me against the city’s charming, two-toned walls. There’s one of me conversing with a dog, in front of an old church. Trust me, it’s a great photo. Like, print-it-and-frame-it good.
Function over form
But then came the bathroom. And the way I was guzzling water, this encounter was bound to happen.
I found myself crouched over a public bathroom toilet, praying to a benevolent higher power (like Philip Lim or Prabal Gurung), that I wouldn’t piss on myself, while carefully maneuvering the playsuit so no part of the collar or top would touch the rim of the toilet. *Shudder*
They should teach you how to pee in a playsuit in kindergarten. Probably more useful than all those papier-mâché-making classes I took.
It took me, a grown woman, three tries before I could master the pee-crouch-hold-away-from-toilet playsuit move without accident.
I’m a woman who values function over form, so it felt like a strange departure to purchase a playsuit. But its charms overrode my otherwise mature sensibilities.
“It looks so cute on me!” I told myself—and my mom, who had accompanied me to the Araw trunk show. “Plus, it’s pink!” (In case you don’t know, I really like pink.)
There are many women who desire something attractive, yet ignore its inherent flaws.
Like the conversation between stylist and The Cut contributing editor Shiona Turini and publicist Nadia Josse that showed up on my Instagram stories feed this morning. The two were in the thick of New York Fashion Week, at a Chanel couture preview.
Turini was admiring Josse’s jumpsuit, a fancy gray number from the Chanel Paris Salzburg collection. Worn over a long-sleeved black crewneck, it was a cross between a light gray and faded aubergine, with a buttoned vest connected to slim trousers. It was a very good look. And yet…
“Nadia, do you find that when wearing Chanel jumpsuits it’s tricky to go the bathroom?” Turini asks, as she records Josse on her IG stories.
“It is definitely very tricky,” Josse confirms.
“How does it work? Where’s the exit point?”
Like a flight attendant, miming the line to the exit, Josse motions to the buttons lining the anterior of the jumpsuit and jokes, “Exit point is located at front.”
Even Chanel playsuits can be a pain.
But, for people who value their Instagram posts, sometimes the sacrifices are worth it.
At least, that’s what I told myself while admiring my photos on my phone, as I hunched over another public toilet, playsuit in hand, no part of my clothing or body touching any part of the cubicle or toilet, and peed.
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