Doctor Who - Thirteen
It’s not about the clothes, obviously. But clothes are one of the necessary trappings of most humanoid existences (other species handle that more sensibly). For her, the clothes have always been a non-essential but fun ritual of transition, a less painful extension of the golden, shimmery ache of regeneration.
These were not bad, considering the history: scarves, that terrible patchwork coat. The boots were fun; she’ll miss that conceited maroon lining on the jacket. But they’ll need to go, like the rest of that – of him. She smiles, a little sadly, slipping out of the jacket. Time for something new.