Fashion
Maternity fashion? No thank you — I did this instead
Fresh out of my first trimester I was deep into my husband’s trouser drawer pillaging his 32-inch waist army surplus slacks like an urban fox in a food waste bin. Perhaps due to my stumpy little torso or regular IBS bloat, I started showing quite early into my pregnancy, and by 14 weeks, was already sporting a difficult-to-disguise bump.
The ‘hairband trick’ which so many well-meaning pals recommended, along with high street hacks like extender bands designed to prolong the life of your favourite BFJs (before foetus jeans), were quickly rejected for being not only absurd and unsightly but uncomfortable. For a while, my petulant little aversion to maternity wear worked: it was summer and floaty Ganni dresses and blouson shirts were comfortable and bump-disguising. Nobody who I didn’t want knowing I was up the duff knew I was up the duff. But, once the autumn chill descended and my belly became less pot, more ‘I’m smuggling a basketball’, my hand was forced. The bump — and half of my wardrobe with it — was out.
Now 32 weeks pregnant and still ballooning at a quite frankly alarming pace, vaster and more rotund than Old Street roundabout, manoeuvring about as successfully as the Ever Given in the Suez Canal, I have long since conceded and changed up my wardrobe. And, actually, I have found, to my surprise, dressing my pregnant body to be one of the most enjoyable aspects of growing a human. (I shan’t name the less enjoyable aspects, only say do not attempt a bikini trim post 28 weeks and invest in some medical grade stretch mark cream).
My preconceptions that pregnancy would necessitate hiding myself under a shroud for nine months before heading into confinement were not completely unfounded. History tells us women are alluring until they are impregnated and then they must transmute into maternal, demure, diffident the second the second line appears. Which perhaps explains why most so-called ‘maternity fashion’ consists of shapeless sacks in drab, uninspiring fabrics and shades, mumsy floral dresses and mal-fitting dungarees: items that look like the abandoned scraps from the conveyor belt of fashion proper.
In the patriarchal narrative of womanhood, pregnancy, and mothering are at once wholesome and monstrous, to be controlled and hidden. An exposed pregnant stomach is scandalous. This was no better highlighted than when Ross from Friends suggested Rachel get changed for her midwife appointment when she is wearing a slightly cropped tee which exposes the bottom of her bump. So out of the ordinary was this styling choice at the time that I, too, considered Rachel’s exposed midriff to be quite radical.
The last few years have seen celebrities set fire to the rulebook when it comes to gestational dressing, with Rihanna at the vanguard embracing lace and fetish wear during both her pregnancies. Sienna Miller followed suit, rocking a white Schiaparelli bump-liberating two-piece on the red carpet, and model Adwoa Aboah chose the Met Gala for the setting of her pregnancy reveal, in a scarlet H&M bubble skirt and crop top. Hayley Beiber, too embraced her changing shape during pregnancy, at one point opting for an entirely lace body suit. The idea that a pregnant body is something to abhor — heavy, taut, whale-like and ungainly — has been well and truly quashed.
Frankie Graddon, fashion journalist and author of the Mumish Substack agrees. “Thanks to the recent spate of pregnant celebrities shunning the traditional maternity dressing rules in favour of more fashion-forward looks there is increasing scope for what you can wear when pregnant. It doesn’t have to be Bretons and dungarees — the idea has been put forward that you can be style-conscious, even sexy. Which is very liberating.”
I’ve found pregnancy to be unexpectedly liberating in other ways, too. While I have certainly felt colossal and physically impeded at times, I have largely enjoyed the physicality of becoming a human incubator. In fact, I’ve developed a new body confidence which I feared was forever lost to languish in a nightclub in Manchester University in the late ‘00s.
While oversized smocks and kaftans have long been the blueprint for maternity wear, and the temptation to dress like something under which Charli XCX might perform a secret Glastonbury set remains strong, I have found the opposite to be more flattering: tight, body con and shirred pieces which envelop the bump. Instead of the endless sucking in which I previously performed daily in a futile attempt to hide my thirty-something paunch, being visibly pregnant has afforded me the ability to exhale and embrace my body. My Marine Serre moon print tops, previously strictly layering items, have draped my midriff like the cellophane on a decorative fruit basket; old Acne Studios wool long-sleeve thermals have been dug out to take pride of place in daily ‘fits, and gossamer-thin Base Range tees are now confidently thrown on, with my new outie belly button popping through for good measure (RIP belly piercing, you are deeply missed).
I’m not alone in feeling this surge of pregnancy body confidence: a friend told me that, heartbreakingly, pregnancy was the only time she’d ever liked her body after decades of dieting. Maybe we can put it down to the inescapable mind fuckery of growing a human and how that feels wildly special, gruesome and terrifying in equal measure or more conceivably because it signals a momentary release from the shackles of an impossible beauty standard which dictates the female form should strike the perfect chord of not-quite emaciated yet subtly fecund.
Beyond body confidence, I live for a sartorial challenge and never was there a trickier clothing conundrum than attempting to negotiate fabrics and cuts designed for the cookie cutter female form, onto one expanding into a new inhabitant of the Milky Way at a rate of knots. When it comes to maternity wear, there is no rulebook, only opportunity. Pregnancy is a get-out-of-jail-free card for almost all social norms, including being wildly over (or under) dressed for all occasions. Literally nobody will question if you turn up to work in a matching leopard print co-ord or a set of feather pyjamas. Likewise, if you harbour a strong desire to shuffle about your daily business in loungewear and Ugg boots or sit at your desk with your jeans undone, no judgment shall befall you.
While I did eventually concede and hunt down the perfect pair of maternity jeans (white Paige ones) and a boilersuit from Beyond Nine, I’ve largely avoided maternity-specific clothes and instead shopped my wardrobe for my best stretchy items (Sleeper feather and glitter lurex PJs), romantic Scandi dresses from Cecilie Bahnsen, oversized The Frankie Shop shirts and mixed them in with new items that will take me postpartum and beyond, including Molly Goddard cotton Vinted finds and eccentric Simon Miller knitwear.
I’m not alone in rejecting the traditional maternity wear. Graddon cites data from fashion platform Lyst from this summer, which saw searches for maternity wear down by 45% year on year. “I think that’s very indicative of how uninspiring the offering is – women simply don’t want to wear it,” she says. “Maternity wear has traditionally been a forgotten category. The long-standing attitude is that when women get pregnant they stop caring about what they look like and are happy to wear frumpy tunic tops and tent dresses.”
But a burgeoning bump need not be hidden, it can be the pièce de résistance of a look, a gift to a sartorially playful generation. Gone is the time when pregnant women had to waddle around like lollipops in leggings or settle for some sort of deranged low-crotch overgrown toddler jumpsuits for the best part of a year. While the fashion world waits to catch up, women are taking matters into their own hands.