another facet of my autistic Gwen headcanon is that she’s such a massive bitch because she doesn’t allow herself comfort and is constantly one more bad texture/sensation away from a meltdown. I think she would benefit massively from making the switches that I’ve made — no more underwired bras, no heels or other uncomfortable shoes, no more jeans or actually any stiff or tight fabrics — but she won’t.
she can’t be seen to be slobbing about in a sports bra (even if no one could tell or would give a fuck) or anything other than pristine tailored office wear; she can’t allow herself anything more casual than loafers that pinch and rub because she has to be presentable. it’s only on very rare occasions that she’ll wear her glasses into work because she has this completely irrational notion that everyone will see this as a lack of effort, that she couldn’t be bothered to put her contacts in even though they irritate her already dry eyes and she could do with taking breaks from them more often. her comfort will never be as important as maintaining appearances, she learned that much at a young age.
she has to be perfect, and it doesn’t matter about straps digging in and being self-conscious over whether things are clinging too much. she goes home every morning after another stiff-shouldered, aching-headed, easily irritated night with stinging eyes and blister plasters on her heels and round her little toes and immediately regrets scratching at the pink indentation lines on her sides, knowing rightly that there are alternatives available and that what she wears is her business thank you very much, but she will not allow herself that comfort because it lowers a standard — that only she is holding herself to, that only she cares about — and a Bouchard does not lower their standards.