The preparation for the festival of Christmas in Nigeria starts much ahead of its time. The locals pack and shop for the return to their villages, whilst many from "overseas" book their plane tickets to Nigeria way ahead of time. Year after year, Lagos metamorphoses into a thriving, wild, carnival city. New clubs are launched, old bars re-open, everywhere is packed with new faces, fresh styles, and it seems everyone has saved their best attires for the Christmas fiesta. Night after night, I hear about a party that must not be missed and, each night, I find myself contending with the nightmarish wardrobe quandary - what to wear.
The pressure seems to increase tenfold during the two-week Christmas holiday period. As if my life depends on it, I try to look my best. Even if I'm just going to get my car tyre changed, I still ponder over my outfit choice. After all, you never know who you might bump into.
I've wasted many fragments of my life throwing wire hangers at my reflection and head-butting my shoe-boxes in sheer despair. I don't know what it is about Christmas parties that turn me and my girlfriends into frantic fashionistas.
I look forward to my friends who are vacationing from abroad to arrive in Lagos, as they always have the latest and most stylish clothes, and my choice of attires expand into a colourful mélange of material. We cannot wear the same outfit twice during the holiday season and if we do, we make sure it's never ever to the same venue. My wardrobe never seems to have enough dresses, shoes or accessories, and swapping clothes with my friends becomes mandatory to my getting ready routine. (However, if you ever ask me or my friends, we will effortlessly deny this practice.)
Earlier this week, I was having a maxi dress versus mini dress battle: do I go for effortlessly chic or drop dead gorgeous? Less than 30 minutes before my friend was due to arrive and I had not even decided what colour of nail polish to wear because any sane girl knows the importance of matching outfit, shoes and nail varnish! As the trauma unfolded, my best friend called to ask if I remembered what shoes she wore last week and to moan that she had nothing to wear, so she was coming to rummage through my closet.
As I hung up, the phone rang again. This time I heard a thick New York accent. It was my cousin reminding me to return her bangles and sequin top I borrowed, but she also needed my ankle boots and cherry-coloured lip gloss.
When I travel abroad, I always set aside a shopping budget to visit my favourite clothing stores. At the end of summer, I return to Lagos with a new wardrobe and a smile of satisfaction. That is, until Christmas arrives. My "new" clothes quickly become last season's collection and all my friends who live abroad know it. And to make matters worse, I find myself pacing my bedroom and pulling my hair out; in fact, having a mini-panic attack at the sheer thought of someone else wearing the same outfit as I am! Who knew that a mundane task such as getting dressed could be so stressful?
We pressure ourselves unnecessarily to look stunning over the Christmas season. Most of us probably do this because of the competition. Owing to the high influx of "Janded" babes and "Yankee" guys, Lagos becomes a geopolitical compression of accents, and there are more beautiful ladies and more handsome guys around. Some of us are probably also trying to catch the attention of a potential partner, thus making us think, act and dress erratically. I have seen hem lines of skirts rise and rise to the point where a girl cannot sit down comfortably without constantly having to tug at her excuse for a skirt, as if pulling it down by one centimetre will make any visible difference. I have come across ladies wearing fabulous stilettos but by the end of the night their catwalk struts are reduced to Quasimodo-style limps.
This Christmas, I have decided to focus on comfort. I want to have as much fun as possible, yes, but I don't want the worry of aching feet or clingy dresses that ride up my thighs.
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