I hate my hubby’s clothes & I’m binning his wardrobe – I used to want to rip his clothes off, now I want to rip them up
ARRIVING home with a shopping bag, my husband Cornel pulls out a beige jumper and trousers, looking reallyy delighted with his purchases.
They cost around £60 EACH? — not cheap — and although I smile and make approving noises, I’m already plotting to get rid of both.
That’s because these days, I hate what Cornel, 44, wears.
That includes the plastic white “driving slides” emblazoned with “West” and “Coast” on the front, the baggy grey shorts and the purple striped shirt that is far too tight.
And while there was once a time I wanted to rip his clothes off, now I just want to rip them UP!
Since he hit his late thirties, his sartorial style has been on a sharp decline.
And it gets worse and worse every month.
It didn’t start off like this. When we met in 2005, he was wearing a tuxedo — he worked as a pianist in Italy — and looked dapper and handsome.
When he wasn’t in his performing outfit he wore jeans and shirts or a white tee. He was 24 and I was 27.
He had a classic understated style — think James Dean, or Luke Perry in TV’s 90210.
Passion killer
I wanted to rip that suave sexy suit off on more than one occasion, along with the rest of the clothes he wore.
But a few years later, we had kids — our daughter Adriana is now 11 and our son Alex is 15 — and it all started going wrong.
Now, while he still wears a nice suit for work, at home he no longer makes any effort with his wardrobe.
His regular go-to is a sad old polo shirt covered in bobbles from too many washes and “safe” chinos that make him look like he’s from a mail order catalogue aimed at 80-year-olds.
What Cornel wears is a total passion killer, including one polo shirt that became so tatty he began wearing it inside out.
“No one sees!” he argued.
He has started putting together strange combos, socks with slides being the worst
Julie
“I do!” I replied.
That’s not all — he has also started putting together strange clothing combos — socks with slides being the worst.
He claims he wears the dire footwear during long car journeys for comfort but they have slowly slid (pardon the pun) into daily life and he will often wear them to pop to the shops too — to the kids’ horror.
Then there are the shirts that have shrunk over time and are simply too tight, making him look a strange shape.
And don’t get me started on the Hot Wheels racing jacket that looked like something a toddler would wear.
I accidentally donated it to a charity shop.
Still, he doesn’t get the hint. If things go “missing”, he will merely replace them with something equally wrong.
He spends hardly anything on clothes and will go to the ends of the Earth to find a bargain including rifling through TK Maxx bins and ordering off bargain site Temu.
As a result I’ve had to take matters into my own hands.
Some items get given to charity, others have minor accidents (like the time I hacked at a favourite jumper with scissors so the wool ran).
A few have shrunk in accidental 90C washes.
I have taken to buying him clothes as he cannot be trusted to get his own.
Over the years I have donated quite a few items without his consent:
A manky old leather jacket, a jumper with holes in and polo shirts with strange sayings across the front.
A jumper that read “he likes radical on the waves” went to the tip.
Sometimes Cornel realises things are missing and asks me where they are.
I’ve sabotaged hundreds of pounds-worth of clothing over the 15 years we’ve been married.
And when he asks for help locating an item I have destroyed, my guilty response is always the same: “Not sure, keep looking!”
Once, a couple of years ago, he was dropping Adriana at school and one of her friends saw him walking past.
They said: “Your dad looks like a monk with an unusual fashion sense.”
She was mortified.
“Dad, please dress normal,” she told him that night.
If we do go out together I have to steer him towards wearing decent items, not those that feature badly written slogans and strange sentences.
I stuff them to the back of the wardrobe or even put them in the tumble drier at 90C.
“Why don’t you wear that nice fitted shirt,” I suggest when we go out, trying to prise the awful polo shirt with a hideous pattern out of his hands.
Then there are the times he goes shopping on a whim on the way back from somewhere on his own.
He’ll often stop in a TK Maxx and send me pictures of himself from the changing rooms trying stuff on.
Recently, he sent me a snap of himself trying on a coat he loved in the discount store.
It was white, too tight and had a fur collar, and had been reduced from £89 to £50.
He looked like a cross between dodgy dealer Arthur Daley from Eighties TV show Minder, and a pimp.
“It’s giving . . . pimp,” I replied, using Gen Z language.
I put my foot down at that — and everything else he tries to buy.
Instead, I now try to source clothes for him as he seems to be attracted to the strangest, most outlandish garments that don’t go together.
When we were geting set for our holiday this summer, I was sorting out the clothes we were going to pack when I saw him holding up items.
My heart lurched and I said: “What on earth is that?”
He had bought THREE sets of matching cheese-cloth shirts and shorts from Temu in baby blue, white and lemon. The whole lot had come to £20.
“Bargain!” he said with a smile. “And comfy.”
I told him: “They, er, look like pyjamas.” He replied: “They’ll be comfy poolside AND at the buffet dinner.”
He is catching on to my tricks so although I took them out of the suitcase, he stuffed them back in again.
So we had to endure the entire holiday with him wearing the same three matching co-ords on rotation.
At dinner, there were better-dressed toddlers, and the kids would walk three steps ahead because they didn’t want to be associated with his terrible taste.
I just don’t understand it.
Over the years, I have tried harder to look nice as I am aware that, as our bodies age, we have to make the most of clothing to compensate.
Midlife crisis
But he seems oblivious to fashion basics like trends, style or colour combinations.
I hate to tar all men with the same brush when it comes to awful taste in clothes but I do wonder if their wardrobes are some sort of midlife crisis.
Most women I know who are my age still dress well but more and more men are wearing the safe chino and jumper combo and favouring comfort over style.
Yet surprisingly, men in the UK spend an average £67 on clothing compared to £53 spent by women, according to research by Statista.
I always fork out more on my wardrobe than Cornel and when I ask what he thinks of my clothes he says: “You spend too much.”
Most women I know buy at least some of their men’s clothing.
Without my intervention, I wonder how much worse Cornel’s wardrobe can get.
I often point out well-dressed men on TV such as Sylvie’s hot husband in Netflix series Emily In Paris.
Even when I see a dapper man on the street, I’ll nudge Cornel and say: “That would suit you!”
But it just seems to go in one ear and out the other. He argues that I married the man 15 years ago, not the clothes.
I hope one day he will ditch those wretched West Coast slides. That would be a promising start.
I love my slides and I think they’re really cool. And I love baggy shorts and polo shirts
Cornel
Cornel, a musician and interpreter, says: “I like how I dress. I often have to dress in tuxedos or suits for work so in my social life I like to be comfy.
“I love my West Coast slides and think they’re really cool.
“And I love baggy shorts and polo shirts.
“I know Julie isn’t mad on my style but I know she loves me so it doesn’t matter.
“The clothes don’t make the man!”