Nudie runs from the Beach

Lets be honest, I haven’t an iota when it comes to Fashion. We choose outfits that possibly make a statement or can these fashion statements offer a deeper story of our lives? If someone ever compliments a piece of my clothing, I often tend to crease into myself and be the complete and utter awkward that I am. But I also tend to be flooded with the memories as garments have that tendency to remind us of our experiences, be them good or bad.

Lets take my Dryrobe for instance. I’m going to use this as my, lets say, ‘storytelling device’, or should I call it my portable changing room. Gifted by my Dad for my 25th birthday and I can tell ye now lads, long gone are the days awkwardly trying to change into dry clothes on the beach, clutching the towel with one hand and desperately trying to get dressed with the other, hoping your arse wouldn’t fall out for all to see. With the widest of sleeves it allows for changing in public to be a piece of piss. People have told me its ugly as hell, however I’m gonna go as far and say its possibly my favourite garment of all time. While I’ve also received quite a few compliments for this remarkably convenient piece of clothing, I must say, I feel pretty rad when I wear it.

It reminds me of my connection to the elements. How I can be free in the sea, letting go of the worries in life, submerging in that cold water, kicking the ole survival mode into whack, knowing I have a warm duvet like coat of amazingness waiting for me when I get back to shore. My dryrobe also allowed me to embrace Mother Nature in all her glory as I would watch the sun rise and set while feeling snug as a bug. Whether it be huddling at the beach sipping tea with my favourite humans in the peak of winter or jumping out of comfort zones at stupid-o -clock in the summer, my dry robe has always been at hand, an over worn garment some may say.

5ish am, mid summer, jumping from Collimore Harbour.

I cant tell you the amount of times I just whipped off my togs and allowed myself to just be naked under my robe. Not a single f*** given. Nudie runs from the beach. Strolling through Greystones. Nipping into the shops to buy groceries. Feeling so liberated because I knew but no one else did, my little secret. Untill one day, a friend caught me by surprise, wanted me to train with him, ‘take that yoke off’, he whipped the zip down and before I even had a chance to think, there they were, the girls came out for all to see. Not my little secret anymore.

It acted as a barrier in the midst of winter, as the powdery heavenly beauty fell all over the Wicklow Mountains. Snow harsh and biting, but feeling safe and warm in a coat shaped duvet, allowing more time for that inner child to be released as we played in it. Ever camped in Ireland in March? It’s bloody well cold! Let me tell you, 5 layers of clothing, meets dryrobe, meets sleeping bag equals a whole lot of coziness, the bare necessities.

A hug rug, the perfect rainy festival attire, I could go on and on with my list of memories in my ‘comfort cape’ this past year. So as I post this, I wonder if you guys might have any untold stories hanging in your own closets or tucked away in drawers? Why not find that garment, that overlooked storytelling device and a way to get at stories and memories that are sometimes put to the side.


Happy Monday,

T H A T  C O R K  O N E








One thought on “Nudie runs from the Beach”

  1. Ciara you have just made my day! And that believe me was hard as I’m in d south! You’ve cheered me up no end!! And I’m only wearing a “gown” 🤣🤣🤣 thank you xx


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