I’m fascinated with what people wear in the privacy of their home. Dressing up is about presenting ourselves to the world, about how we see ourselves and want to be understood. The reverse of that, how we dress at home, is just as revealing. How people live unobserved, how they cook, how they keep their home, tells a story that’s always illuminating. It shows what we want and need for ourselves alone, which why in its way it’s more honest.

The quarantine has started a discussion of what we wear when we’re unseen. Some people dress up out of principle (and a worthwhile principle it is!). Others are thrilled that they can dress down. I understand both impulses. Wearing a dinner jacket at home is both dignified and slightly absurd. It’s the fact it’s so wildly unnecessary that makes it welcome. 

There’s certainly a way to dress down well. One of the sartorial tragedies of the last decade (longer really) is the degraded way people dress down. Just because something is comfortable does not make it good, especially since there are so many smart ways to be at ease. Massimo Alba has dedicated his career to designing elegant clothes for that purpose. Now we have luxury sweatpants, the only thing in the world worse than regular sweatpants. There are very few hard rules in dressing, except that nobody has ever, ever looked good in sweatpants. 

So dress down and but not out. What makes sense at home? Clothes that are soft and unstructured. Corduroy trousers were practically made for domestic life. Maybe in a daring color you’re not prepared to inflict on the public—it’s your little secret. If you want to be decadent then consider an old pair of grey flannel trousers are as soft as any fleece. Do they have a patch, a tear or evidence of darning? Even better!

There are probably more good chinos available now than ever before (and, alas, more bad ones too). They can wash, rinse and do whatever magic to them so when you get a pair from RRL they are ready to go. Their officer chino are my favorites though they’re not cheap, they are not even reasonable unless you’re obsessed about these matters. Most companies make good straight-legged trousers—don’t get caught up in skinny anything when you’re at home. I have a chino progression: new ones I wear in public and then when they get marked and scuffed I persevere until they can no longer be salvaged. Then I wear them fishing and when they have countless holes then they are just worn at home, in their retirement. 

Maybe you don’t want to get dressed. Are you thinking pajamas? That’s a good thought. A lot of great English shirt-makers also make incredibly smart pajamas. What about Budd’s Batiste pajamas (or “pyjama” as they say)? That’s what Daniel Day-Lewis wore in Phantom Thread. I was always intrigued by the fact that Paul Stuart can make you a custom robe in their workroom above their store on Madison Avenue. Something to save up for and look forward to after this is all over. A robe is interesting because it’s both pulled together and incredibly relaxed. Perhaps you accidentally packed one in your bag when you were checking out of a Marrakesh hotel. That would look good too.

In private I prefer velvet slippers that are about to start falling apart. I found a pair of brown velvet slippers (my current obsession) on eBay but they had a crown on them and that was a little too royal for me. I’d rather have a dead stranger’s initials on slippers than a crown. But find your own way: destroyed Gucci loafers, grass-stained bucks, any espadrilles. I’m very curious with these Arthur Sleep opera slippers (which I first saw on the photographer, Robert Spangle). They are too refined for my private regimen so I’d break them in at Marriage of Figaro when this is all done. 

I remember seeing my friend, the painter Duncan Hannah, wearing destroyed Belgians around his country house, in a rarely witnessed shade of green. They were given to him by his friend Glenn O’Brien. That was certainly the coolest thing in Litchfield County and possibly beyond. Which is another lesson: know the sizes of a few good friends and pass things along. When I make an errant eBay purchase or come into clothing for whatever reason, they often find new and welcome homes. 

My unifying principle is an immense, shawl-collar cardigan. Whether over pajamas or an old oxford shirt, I like them on the long side when they fall way below the waist. It’s like a more presentable robe, but you can go outside and get the paper. Polo used to make big cable knit one with leather buttons, you might find them on eBay or at Crowley Vintage.

I’m also intrigued by the idea of a housecoat. This might take many forms. A jacket that has been destroyed and is not fit for public consumption—say, a flannel sport coat with the elbows blown out. Something worn down and worn in. Hell it could even be velvet. I love the idea that something whose grander days are behind and now it has a new life. It’s like drinking coffee every morning from fine china with a chip in it.

Hopefully, by the time you master the art of dressing in private we’ll all be back in public. And what could be better than that?