At some point when I was in elementary school, my mother took a continuing education class at the high school to hone her sewing skills.
Previously, she’d taken ceramics and I rather liked all the new additions to our home, from glazed frog toothbrush holders and a (now) kitschy orange lamp base (it was the ’70s) to a Christmas tree adorned with little plastic candles that lit up from the light bulb the tree sat on. There were SO MANY ceramic pieces.
My mom’s sewing creations got more personal. She started making clothes for my brother, my sister and me. I was too young—8 or 9—to have a strong fashion sense or to even name more than three labels…Levi’s, Lee and OP (Ocean Pacific). These were the days before OshKosh B’gosh, Baby Gap and even Garanimals. I might have appreciated my mom’s sewing if she’d gone with a different vision. After all, I absolutely abhorred clothes shopping.
Unfortunately, my mother decided that, since she had two boys, she’d buy double the fabric and make the same t-shirts for both of us. It would be cute. We’d be like twins.
The problem was we weren’t twins. I don’t know how my brother felt—he always seemed to go along with everything—but I was not okay with being a fake twin. I was THREE YEARS OLDER. I was more mortified than when Julie Andrews made matching clothes from drapes for all the von Trapps. Suddenly, “Sew, a needle pulling thread” seemed like it should be a banned lyric.
It's possible this twinning trauma impacted how I wanted to dress whenever I had a boyfriend. We would not be matching. Not even for Halloween. (Why would I want to get in an argument over which Dr. Seuss character I was? I would be Thing 1 or no-Thing at all.) Fortunately, my boyfriends and I always had different styles.
Only on rare occasions did clothing sameness become an issue. In the 90s, my L.A. boyfriend Gary and I both liked a new line of Girbaud clothing, with purple being the feature color. The new clothes had been my “discovery” as I was already a fan of Girbaud wear. We both liked a funky purple and black striped jean, but I called dibs and he settled for solid purple which I swear better suited him. While dating Daniel during the early months of COVID, he decided he wanted a Rains jacket like mine. When I prohibited him from buying the same color as one of mine, his eyes bugged out in surprise. Still, he complied. In both instances, I would never wear the similar item when my partner wore the “companion” piece.
Not twins. Not “the other half of me.” Not “you complete me.” We were two separate people with separate tastes, bodies and minds. Dating any proximation of a twin would have been a dilution of individuality and, well, symbolically incestuous. I wasn’t down with any of that.
That’s why I took note regarding two pop hits that have come out this year, each referring to a partner as a twin. One, “Down Bad” is by none other than Taylor Swift. I’m an unofficial Swiftie. It should come as no surprise I’m not big on joining things, but I do like her music. I listen to her lyrics and hold it to a higher standard than, say, anything by KC and the Sunshine Band in the ’70s (“That’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.”) or, from the current decade, Harry Styles’ “Watermelon Sugar” and whatever nonsense he’s pretending it’s not about.
I’ve quibbled with certain lines in other Swift songs such as in “Mean,” where she knocks a super critical guy and then stoops to his level (“All you are is mean…and a liar…and pathetic…and alone in life”) or the similarly angry “Your wife waters flowers, I wanna kill her” in this year’s “Fortnight.” But it’s in 2024’s “Down Bad” that she mentions twinning with her partner.
Fuck it if I can’t have us,
I might just not get up.
I might just stay down bad.
Like I lost my twin
Fuck it if I can’t have him,
Down bad.
Muni Long also had a top 20 hit this year with “Made for Me.” It’s one of my favourites but I get stuck yet again on the twin reference.
It ain’t every day
That I get in my feelings this way
I knew it was rare
’Cause before you, I never did care.
Don’t know what I would do
If I had to go on without you
Twin
Where have you been?
This morning in my Facebook feed, there was a photo of two men, just married, wearing matching green suits. I should love the pic because it’s a “blendie” in which their suits blend with the grasses and trees behind them. I’m a frequent “blendie” taker, but I define my term as a blended selfie. It’s my way of playing with the unabashed selfie culture that has become a fixture.
When we fought for marriage equality, there was all sorts of talk about how gays would put their own imprint on weddings, creating new traditions, but most of what I’ve seen has conformed with the standard wedding playbook. I’ve seen grooms each wear black tuxes but I don’t think this is a case of twinning; instead, it’s lack of imagination. The green-suited gays looked more stylish. Given that, I am certain they could have come up with complementary suits or even outfits that were truly unique to each of them. They consciously twinned.
I guess when I see a couple with matching winter coats or other gear, I wonder first if there was a BOGO sale (buy one, get one free). That notion makes my stomach want to cough up lunch. The other possibility is that the clothes are purchased to convey a sense of likeness and togetherness. Again, my lunch won’t settle.
I will always believe that we bring ourselves into any relationship, be it a work dynamic, a friendship or something on the dating spectrum. If two is to be better than one, it’s due to what each person offers, a cosmic combining of ideas, interests and beliefs. It’s not about sameness but about how two individually formed adults mesh, enjoying commonalities while being curious about, respecting and supporting differences.
For me, twinning feels like taking two people and watering them down, softening edges, conforming, getting blander.
But then, I am single. And, just last week, I blogged that I expect to remain that way from now on. If someone shows up wearing the same shirt, pants and Converse as me, it’s not a sign we were meant to be together; rather, it’s a nudge that I need to shake up my personal fashion choices and skedaddle from the presently uncomfortable matching scenario.
My brother was not my twin and neither will be any boyfriend of mine, be it in the past or as some fictional future incarnation.
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