Experience: I've worn the same outfit as my husband for 35 years

'We have four wardrobes of twin outfits, hanging two by two.' Photograph: Webb Chappell for the Guardian

When I met Donald, he always wore a?suit and tie. He had a?very formal upbringing and refused to take off his jacket, so when he came to visit one hot and humid summer, I thought he was going to melt. I?came up with a plan: I made him a short-sleeved shirt as a gift, knowing he'd wear it so as not to hurt my feelings. It?worked, and after we married I?carried on making his shirts.

The man at the fabric shop was always very generous when he cut my fabric, so, after checking Donald didn't mind, I would make myself a?matching blouse with the leftovers. It was fun going out in coordinating shirts – in high school in the US, it means you're "going steady", which was a giggle to us, since we were married. We got lots of compliments and people who would normally just walk on by stopped to talk to us. We?enjoyed the attention and we also enjoyed how we looked.

Then Donald suggested I?make our bottom halves match, too, so we started amassing a whole wardrobe of clothes. Initially we matched only at weekends, but as I?grew adept at making more complex garments, such as jackets, sweaters and coats, we decided to go full-time with our identical look. We never needed to go clothes shopping again.

Now, 35 years on, we have four wardrobes of twin outfits, hanging two by two, organised by season and occasion. I always make myself a?feminine version of Donald's outfit, though; it's not unisex, because I like ruffles and girly things. I'd describe our style as traditional – we're not concerned about following fashion.

We find it funny when watching those crime shows and they say, "What was he wearing when you last saw him?" We could just point to ourselves and say, "This!"

If we need a new outfit, we go to the fabric shop together and pick out something we both like. Donald is an artist – he designed the now iconic pink plastic flamingos you see in gardens – so has an excellent eye for colour and is comfortable wearing distinctive designs. Whenever I?see flamingo fabric, I buy some and make us an outfit; we now have more than 40 in their own special closet.

Whoever gets there first gets to choose what we're wearing. It's not a stampede, though; we're both amenable to the other's choice. If we're going to a party, we'll discuss what to wear like any other couple, except the difference is we want to look the same. Someone once told me that if she and her husband came down wearing the same colour top, they'd change. What a shame to be so insecure. We both have very strong identities as individuals and wearing the same clothes doesn't affect this; clothes don't make your personality. Instead, dressing the same gives me a lovely feeling of closeness to Donald. I've never not felt like doing it; we've done it for so long now that it would feel unnatural not to.

Donald used to have to travel for business and when I packed his case, I'd tell him which outfit to wear on which day, so we coordinated even though we were apart. It helped us feel connected to each other. But his boss realised Donald was much more productive if I came along, too, so I'd help out at the conventions. It was good for business, because people would seek out our stall year after year to see what we were wearing.

We don't like to be apart. Donald proposed on our first date and we've been together almost all the time since. If you want to do things by yourself, why get married? Why have separate hobbies? We never argue – Donald says he learned long ago to say, "Yes, dear", but in fact it's because we have a strong foundation. Being with him is never an effort.

As we spend all our time together, we always eat the same food, too, which is good because we have matching stains on our outfits.

If people in the street snigger or nudge each other, I don't mind. In?fact, it makes me laugh. We once saw Dr Ruth, the TV psychiatrist, in a?department store. She was making her way over to us – probably to comment on our matching coats and hats – but we eluded her. It's one thing to get negative comments from strangers but quite another to have unwanted psychological suggestions, implying dependency issues or something similar. All it is is a positive reflection of the nature of our relationship. We're a matched set.

‧ As told to Emily Cunningham

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Statue commemorates wartime lovers separated for 60 years

The statue of Luigi and Mokryna was erected in a park near the 'lovers' bridge' in the Ukrainian capital, Kiev. Photograph: Sergii Kharchenko/Demotix/Corbis

It may go down as one of the longest love affairs in history – and certainly one with the most inauspicious beginnings, starting as it did in a concentration camp more than 70 years ago in Austria.

It was there that Luigi Pedutto met Mokryna Yurzuk. He was an Italian prisoner of war, she was a Ukrainian forced labourer with a young daughter born in the Nazi camp near the town of Sankt Polten, northeastern Austria. She brought him food, he sewed hats and clothes to impress her in return. They fell in love, but when the camp was liberated in 1945, Yurzuk was sent back to Ukraine. Pedutto was not allowed to join her.

Decades passed. Pedutto worked as a financier in Italy and Yurzuk as a collective farmer in Ukraine. Both married and had children, but never forgot their wartime love. Finally the two were reunited in 2004, thanks to a TV show in Moscow. Now the pair have their own statue in the Ukrainian capital, Kiev, in a park near the so-called "lovers' bridge", a popular destination for people to confess their love to one another.

After unveiling the monument, Pedutto couldn't help crying. "When I was nine years old, my teacher told me: remember, for all the tough times in your life, you will be rewarded some day or other," he said. "I feel like I've been rewarded for all I endured." As he spoke, bystanders offered good wishes and women asked him to give them a kiss "for luck in love".

Yurzuk was too weak to travel to Kiev for the ceremony, but her relatives at the event said she was happy that her love would become a symbol for other couples. Yurzuk's granddaughter, Galyna Yemeliyanova, said her grandmother often retold her love story, but never dreamt of meeting her Italian boyfriend again.

Not being able to travel to the USSR, with the country cut off by the iron curtain, Pedutto kept Yurzuk's photograph and a small medallion with a strand of her hair. At last he ventured to make a move and wrote a letter to the international television show Wait for Me, which helps those who have been separated to find each other. It worked. "I sought her for 62 years, and at last I found her," Pedutto said.

Yurzuk visited Pedutto in Italy and was even made an honorary citizen of his home town, Castel San Lorenzo in Salerno. But she didn't accept his marriage proposal, despite both of them being widowed. "When I proposed to her, she just laughed," Pedutto said.

"They found each other too late," said Yemeliyanova. "Both have their children, grandchildren and don't want to travel to a foreign land."

So their relationship remains at the courtship stage. Pedutto brings Yurzuk homemade olive oil and parmesan to prepare her Italian spaghetti. He also helps her with chores, just as he did all those years ago in Austria.

He is talkative and romantic, while she is reserved and down to earth. They speak in a strange mix of Ukrainian, Italian and Russian, but usually understand each other without words. Yurzuk is waiting for Pedutto to visit again in August, when the two plan to go to Kiev together to see the monument immortalising their love.

He still hasn't given up hope of persuading her to marry, said Maria Shevchenko, the Ukrainian producer of Wait for Me, who has been following the couple's story for years.

"And you can expect anything from this couple," she added, laughing.

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