Picture the scene: the time is now, the place is Primark. Two young women, all hair extensions, faux sheepskin and pushchairs, are causing a dynamic blockage to the already-too-narrow pathway through men's loungewear. The air is thick with obscenities and stiflingly hot in the wantonly eco-cynical way of the High Street. There's the slimmest chance that one might strangle the other with her own acrylic snood...
Such scenes are nothing new. Remember the stampede for Kate Moss's first collection for Top Shop? Or the battle in Sainsbury's supermarkets for Anya Hindmarch's 'Not a Plastic Bag'? Limited editions often draw out the base consumer in us all, but in Primark? The home of the TOWIE dayglo underpant? Weren't we already base enough?
The women are fighting over the last Superman 'Onesie' in a size XL. Personally, the thought of a super sized Superman worries me. And surely a Superman in a babygro is a contradiction in terms? For that is what the Onesie is - a babygro - and it's right here, right now, right where you are, threatening your world.
The last time I saw an adult man wearing super-sized babywear was in that most marvellous of theatrical events, Jerry Springer, The Opera. (What makes me proud to be British? That makes me proud to be British.) In the show, Montel wants 'diaper action' explaining to his partner that 'it would help in the bed department'. Now it seems, infantile fetishwear has gone mainstream and this Christmas, tens of thousands of men will be unwrapping their very own Onesies, in-store fights permitting.
I can't help but be depressed by this phenomenon which makes the shellsuit of previous decades look like formal office attire. Just when did pyjamas become too onerous to put on? For how long has it been too much effort for the British male to pull on elasticated trousers and a top? Oh, but I'm forgetting socks. And possibly slippers (or indoor shoes, if you went to public school). The Onesie with its integral feet means countless seconds saved putting on more traditional footwear and an even greater time saving if you add up all the minutes spent looking for matching socks.
But a word of warning. As you laugh at the novelty of your partner lounging around in his all-in-one superhero outfit, make a mental note of that warm feeling because you are going to have to refer yourself to it when he fails to lay the patio/clear out the shed/empty the litter tray/stack the bloody dishwasher/pick his effing towels up off the floor. A man in a Onesie is not a man of action. In fact, you can totally forget Superman and his wonderchums; what you've created is 'Inaction Man'.
Anyone who saw Frank Skinner don a Onesie on last week's Opinionated show on BBC2 will have seen this borne out before their very eyes. Wearing a black, white and grey camouflage (the new urban guerrilla, or indeed gorilla, because they do Onesies in a variety of Primate styles) fleecy all-in-one, he confessed that wearing it made him want to watch tv, not make it. Now, I ask, is it just coincidence that the slow down of the UK economy has happened just as the Onesie is on the rise? We are surely kitting out our men for non-productivity.
And where is the Onesie enjoying greatest popularity? In the academic institutions of this country! If you haven't already borne witness to a group of students out drinking or going to the pictures in their Onesies, trust me, it's going to happen soon. You too will be anxious about rubbing up against that much polyester with no clear view of the fire exit. As our young men prepare for unemployment, what better way to adjust their mindset than to slip into a romper suit and parade their emasculation in public!
And speaking of emasculation, it's one thing to get your man into a Onesie; it's quite another to get him out of it. If you thought fly buttons were an issue when you're two Christmas eggnogs to the wind, attempting sex with a man in a romper suit could well be a challenge too far. But then, whoever wanted sex with a man in a romper suit?
People, when it comes to the Onesie, let's think twice...