When I was about seventeen, our family Sunday brunch was in jeopardy. My mother insisted on "not a minute later than" half past ten, my father on a proper dress code, while I - after long nights of partying - needed every single second longer in bed. Finally we found a compromise: I had to show up by eleven o'clock "at the latest", but properly showered I was allowed to cut out the time-consuming styling of my teenage years: a bathrobe was allowed.

I always chose the oversized robe of my father because everything I wore back then had to be larger than life. Wrapped in his baby blue terry model, I felt like Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman”, you know, the scene at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel when she surprised Richard Gere with her red lion's mane for breakfast.

Little did I know that my father had his very own style icon - James Bond that is. iI only later found out that both Sean Connery and Roger Moore had a thing for that specific style and colour.

Then the simple, mostly white terrycloth coat increasingly disappeared from hotel rooms, replaced by kimono-like models in waffle piqué. Apparently, they were considered a more suitable companion in spa areas, as those became mandatory in hotels at that time, too.

The classic model would become the utensil of welfare recipients, as they were portrayed in comedy shows, that is: worn over sleevelss singlets, beer bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other. Or colorfully patterned in hospital series, often performed there by older people, not to say: vulnerable people.

In films, the leading actresses either wore his shirt to breakfast (if the scene was set in a hotel) or a hoody over T-shirt and pajama pants at home.

Then came that darn last year. With its home offices and zoom parties and its new I-don't-care-about-nothing-dress codes. Hoodies, his shirts, sweatpants: we wore them all week now anyway.

I realized I needed a different look to celebrate my Sunday meander. I found a blue terry triple X model online. Lolling in my favorite wing chair with a breakfast tray at my feet, I feel every bit like “Pretty Woman” in a five-star hotel again.

Home, suite home.