M y brother and I used to dress the same. I was two years older and taller, but my mother ignored our age difference and made us wear identical clothes. This was especially true of official photographs, where, as children, my brother and I shared the same passport, wearing the same white shirt, same tie, same sweater, same jacket.
If the photo hadn’t been cropped, you would have seen us with the same shorts and exactly the same shoes. She didn’t treat us like twins, who are frequently compelled by their parents to wear the same clothes to look “cute” together, but she was impatient with clothes, and two of the same kind in different sizes was easier for her. There were minor differences: his bathing.
