It's a wrap

I bought a sarong as a fashion fresh undergrad in the 1990’s. I saw a friend of mine who served in Africa in the Peace Corps wearing one, and she looked so exotic and unique and relaxed all at the same time. I wanted that too. I went to the fabric store and bought two yards of a rayon material that had an earth-mother sand and water kind of vide to it. I washed it a few times to get the frayed edges going, and voila, it was ready.

Usually I’d wrap it full length around my middle and roll down the top to secure the waist. It turned out to be the most comfortable garment I’d ever owned, and it was perfect for hung-over Friday mornings when I really didn’t want to go to class. On hotter days, I’d fold it in off-kilter half length-wise before wrapping it around my waist. Still the most perfect fashion accoutrement for a young college co-ed ever, quirky and comfortable.

Whenever I ran into older women--meaning anyone over 25--while I was wearing my sarong, they’d always say, “That’s really cute but I couldn’t do that on my body.” I cajoled and said they should try something new and they were being too hard on themselves. They demurred.

I forgot about the sarong after college for a long time. I guess after graduation I never really had an appropriate place to wear something that casual. But when I started packing for a move, there in my closet, I rediscovered the sarong. All of the memories of the fun I had wearing it came back in a rush, and I thought, “It’s time to resurrect the sarong.” I stopped packing and put on the sarong and looked in the mirror. I had turned into the older lady. “That’s really cute but I couldn’t do that on my body.” It wasn’t a self-esteem thing, I really didn’t have the narrow hips and slender waist of an undergrad anymore. My first fashion lesson in growing up.

Now that very same sarong plays a different role in my life: I never go camping without it. My husband and I go on weekend camping trips all over the country with our friends in other states, and I have found the sarong to be an invaluable tool when I’m “roughing it.” If it gets a little cold at night, I have the sarong to wrap around my head and shoulders like a scarf. If it gets surprisingly hot, I’m ready with the most comfortable skirt ever. In the sleeping bag, I use it as a sheet so I have temperature options other than unzipping the bag. If I have to, I have it as a towel for unexpected water events. And, I confess, I’ve actually had to use the sarong as a handkerchief on one or two occasions.

The sarong lives on in my life, just not in the way I had originally imagined. I swear it’s been the best eight dollar investment I’ve ever made in my wardrobe—it’s been in circulation in one form or another for more than ten years now. And I’ve learned, anyone really can wear a sarong, it’s just how you wear it that changes.