Random shizzle I bought off the internet #1

A considered review.

One of my fave slightly spurious psychological theses is called “Mere-Exposure Effect”. It’s most commonly invoked to explain why we fancy people in the office, people we’d never fancy in real life. Why easily-ignorable sixes on the street somehow become hot ticket nine and a halfers in the queue for canteen coffee. Which is one of my favourite things to think about, because, y’know: it involves fancying people.

I digress.

Mere-Exposure Effect does what it says on the tin: repeated exposure alone to a person can lead to an attraction; just seeing them, over and over and over, in their… clothes, with their… hair (or lack thereof, like I say, sixes can become nine and a halves in an office)… can spark a lil something. When I was office based, I always thought office crushes were a semi-conscious confection designed by my own psychology to keep me coming in at all - but it works either way, eh?

Mere-Exposure Effect definitely explains my bonko on-line shopping propensities. Instagram goes: “Oi! Polly! We, your Robot Overlords, think you’ll LOVE this obscure jeans brands we’ve rustled up from the depths of your algorithm.” I’ll look, think something along the lines of: “Yeah, nice! But kinda like the 20 pairs I already own, so regretfully, My Robot Overlords: I’m gonna pass.” Oh, but too late! Insta’s got its teeth bone-deep into my fleeting interest, will then show me those jeans over and over and over again (“Look at the jeans, Polly! See how they shine!”), until I come to believe those jeans truly are quite unlike anything I already own, and entirely possibly, the one thing that stands between me and A Perfect Look.

So I buy the jeans.

Or in this case, my most recent case: a racer-back compression fabric tank in a weird weird colour, from Insta brand Klayd, purveyors of “Elevated fashion essentials. Every body, every day.”

Here she is!

I do like a top, I shan’t lie; setting aside how its not really done for a person to wander around in just their bra: a well conceived vest top can make a Look. They’re quietly glam (cos: arms) and a little can-do, a little sportif; add a light touch of shaping compression to the fabric, and: they’re fitted! They’re upward thrusting! They’re tum encasing, boob-supporting! I also v much like a racer back . I’m a bit up-n-down in my trunk, not much in the way of a curve, and because racer backs veer in around the armpit, they’re good at faking shape.

Of course Instagram knows this about me.

Of course it started showing me Klayd.

I reckon it takes about 12 days solid of Mere Exposure to get me from “Nah, you’re alright” to: Add To Basket, click on Apple Pay! I did actually manage to do a bit of research in advance of this buy (NB not an impulse buy, so much as a war of attrition buy). I Googled reviews, discovered a generally content demo of punters; took the time to work out what my size was (I’m an 8 - 10, which apparently equates to a medium, Klayd is Indonesian so, I imagine, caters primarily to a physically smaller customer), decided against playing it safe with a black or dark brown iteration, went instead for this… whatever it is, let’s call it: “just cinammon-y enough to not really look like diarrhoea”, and, bam! Forty quid of my hard earned cash, plus three-ish more for postage and duties.

It arrived three business days later in completely the wrong colour - a moody whale blue grey that did me not favours - so I sent it back through the returns portal with a stern note; got the one I really wanted, three business days after they acknowledged my return, so, 10 days from the original order? Thereabouts.

And it’s… I won’t lie, a bit odd. The fabric is almost scuba-y, with a faint sheen to it, (but it does compress well without suffocating me). And the colour really is only just the right side of diarrhoea. Here I am in it, look.

Don't know how I've managed to cut my own head off in pic one.

Honestly, had I tried it on IRL in a shop, it probably wouldn't have made it to the cash til with me. I kept this because I wasn’t up for the faff of another return… BUT:

Wanna know something really odd?

I’ve worn it shed loads since I got it. Twice a week minimum. It’s got something, this top! In its distinct oddness, in how I probably wouldn't have picked it off a shelf… I keep going back to it. I don’t know how to explain it. It definitely is a bit like how you end up fancying someone in the office despite knowing they’re not really All That, then your fancying quickly veers wildly out of control and somehow? You’re engaged.

Or maybe My Robot Overlords know my better than I know myself.