Let me tell you a secret: I don’t care about my own clothes. Or to be more precise, I once cared, and now I’ve stopped. The past year has made me realise that I do not get dressed for myself as much as I get dressed for other people – a horribly vain self-realisation to come to, perhaps, but what else can explain the fact that I have been perfectly happy to spend much of lockdown in pyjamas and sweatpants?

I found out quite early on in the pandemic that I am not one of those sociopaths who puts on a suit just to sit at my desk at home like some sad personification of LinkedIn. Happily, it turns out my ability to write about clothes doesn’t seem to have been negatively impacted by my own terrible WFH outfit choices. Still, that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on fashion entirely. Instead, like a swamp monster in loopback cotton, I’ve been biding my time. As the world opens up again, I’m ready to care once more.

If history has taught us anything, it’s that now is the time to party. As we know, the austerity and misery of WWI was followed by an explosion of Gatsby-esque showmanship, which is, in all likelihood, where fashion is going next. Forget practicality; burn down comfort; block and delete elasticated waistbands. Instead, the next year will be about dressing up.

Plus, I’ve got plenty of stuff I haven’t had a chance to show off. The embroidered BODE jacket I ordered over lockdown that has been languishing in the gloom of my wardrobe will finally see the daylight, and the Gucci boots I used to stomp around town in last year can be dusted off and brought out of hiding. I can start wearing jewellery again, and I might even crack out a new fragrance. The point is, as soon as I’m vaccinated and back in the world properly, I’ll be putting in much more effort. So if you catch me on the Overground and I’m dressed like Dame Joan Collins, well, don’t be surprised.

When once asked what my party trick was, I replied: “I don’t turn up – surprise!” The truth of the matter is I like staying in. I like a warm bath, a good book, cosy sweats and a proper night’s sleep. I am basically your gran. So, when it comes to emerging from lockdown, it’s a safe bet I won’t be making some kind of grand reentrance.

The same goes with my style. This is not to denigrate those who want to make a song and dance with theirs. I cannot wait to see the wild and wonderful ways men choose to express themselves as we emerge wide-eyed into yet another new normal. I love to see it, but it’s just not very me. The pandemic has been life-changing in many respects, but I didn’t change my personality.

I’m happy to see the world opening up (there are only so many baths one man can take). I’m excited to see family and friends. I’ll even get dressed up for the occasion. I may not be adopting a radical change in style, but I'll want to make an effort. So, I might dabble in snoozecore, a halfway house between all-out style and being rather relaxed, as identified by MR PORTER earlier in the year. This hybrid of snappy style and casual ease is appealing. We could see it in belted coats at Ermenegildo Zegna and Mr Virgil Abloh’s pinstriped silk pyjamas worn with a shirt and tie at Louis Vuitton. I like the ethos of it, even if I won’t wear my PJs beyond the front door.

One thing we’ve had to learn this past year is to get comfortable. It feels like a lesson worth taking back out into the world. I like the idea of sweatpants with a little elevation and luxury loungewear’s softer, superior (comfier) cuts. It will be my version of the Roaring Twenties, and one I’m comfortable with. And when I do eventually make my distinctly low-key entrance, I look forward to seeing you all out there, expressing yourselves in whichever way is comfortable for you.