Around the house it's my natural state.  Always has been.  That's why I like polo shirts.  Pull one on and a pair of jeans, then trot downstairs to free the cat from her Babylonian captivity in the basement.  This morning, for instance, Tattersal, cords and lambswool sweater: all mismatched.

Some of the images in 'Take Ivy' look like 'slept-in Ivy'.  They probably had to drag themselves out of someone else's bed to get to a nine o'clock lecture.  Interesting that when I was in higher education it was the wanky Thatcherites that whined most about having to do any work.  The Chinese and Africans were always last out of the library - and got the First Class degrees. 
Staceyboy and I once wondered whether some of them were in thrifted clothing, or had it been handed down, or was it just well-worn?

I don't remember too much about the male look when I was a fresher.  But the girlie fashion was for too-large woolly sweaters, pleated skirts, tights and flat shoes.  I found it quite appealing.  The girls themselves, however, were convinced that their farts smelled fresher than new-mown hay.

^ Word.