back to basics, part i

One day last year, my husband and I decided to go a restaurant that was slightly more fashionable than our usual haunts, and I was completely flummoxed by how to dress. I was coming from a day that included running around for work and Pilates, and I ended up wearing a dark red sleeveless knit top and jeans. Because it was chilly, I brought a lightweight navy jumper with me, and once I put it on, I looked exactly like I look any other day, working from home. 

I had a great time, but the part of me that enjoys dressing up felt a bit disappointed, because I always feel that a good outfit can make an already-great day even better. And it didn't feel right that despite owning a lot of clothes, I couldn't muster up a satisfactory outfit to take me from day to night.

This off-kilter feeling has been around for a while. Between moving in with my partner, followed by the pandemic, followed by getting married, moving countries and buying a home, a lot of my stuff went into storage or went unworn. I claim to like and love much of my clothing, but the truth was, I'd forgotten what it felt like to wear most of them, and how to style them.

So last week, I mustered the energy to go through my wardrobe and try stuff on, to figure out what was working and what wasn't. It was partly to distract from myself from the end-of-season sales; I was tempted to shop, but I felt so iffy about the state of my wardrobe that I knew it would be a bad idea to not clear my head first.

I'd expected it to be pretty painful, but it took a lot less effort than I'd imagined. The majority of items I weeded out were pieces I already knew were too small for me, but I had hung on because I loved them. This time, after trying them on, I was ready to let them go; I had gotten good wear out of some of them, they were in great condition for consigning or donating, and it didn't make sense to keep them when I couldn't even get them on. 

Then I tried on a bunch of dresses I hadn't worn in a long time. Some felt almost foreign, like clothes from another life, such as a coral pink full-skirted dress from COS that I bought to wear to my sister's wedding in 2018, and a Lisa Marie Fernandez chambray shirtdress. They still fit well, but I didn't relate to them anymore. I don't think I really related to them in the first place; I loved their vibes, but ultimately they weren't me. 

Others felt like reunions, revelatory through fresh eyes. I tried on an old Paul Smith men's shirt I bought in 2011, and I remembered why I bought it in the first place - the cotton was soft and light but had a nice crispness to it, and the cut was loose yet precise. It looks fresh like I just bought it yesterday, even though it got a lot of wears when I still worked in an office. I gave it a good pressing with my iron and hung it back in my closet, excited by the idea of wearing it again. 

I'd expected a navy silk long dress from Filippa K to be too small, but surprisingly, it wasn't, and the long folds of silk made me want to dance. I'd bought it to wear to a wedding years ago, and it became my wedding guest dress -- I wore it to at least two more weddings after. I even considered wearing it to my own civil marriage ceremony two years ago (I went with another option). No regrets there, but trying on the dress again made me realise how little need I have for dressy items when I already have something like this - a dress that feels like me, instead of me feeling like I'm pretending to dress up. 

In all, I let go of 24 items, most of which went to a couple of consignment stores in my neighbourhood. It wasn't a big clear-out, but it helped me find new pleasure in what I had, while making clear where the gaps were. 

I could see that my clothes were polarised between extremely casual and dressy -- well-worn t-shirts and jeans vs special occasion skirts and dresses. There were too few in-between items that connect the two most of my basics were too well-worn and casual to convincingly pair with the dressier pieces. 

I also needed items that layered well and were versatile enough to traverse all four seasons, which I could also pair with the more seasonal items to get more use out of them. 

I went back to the want list in my last post, and found it still to be relevant. Refined basics that could go from day to night (tanks and tees in nicer fabrications) and layering pieces (a slim cardigan, a roomy shirt). If I wanted to shop the end-of-season sales, I would prioritise winter items, as I wasn't thrilled with my outerwear situation the past winter. 

And I pictured a diagram to map out my wishlist, with the goal of seeking out items that fall into overlapping areas:

I made this on Excalidraw, a tool I love and use for work.

At the point of this post being published (it sat in drafts for a week), I have actually already shopped and order a couple of things, but refreshingly, I did not feel guilty, like I had done something I shouldn't. I felt a sense of clarity from having a list, and I shopped with resistance in mind, buying almost nothing on the spot and feeling ok if things sold out while I mulled them over. 

I have no idea if the things I ordered will meet my expectations, so I will save my updates for a future post. 

Meanwhile, I was also inspired by fashion journalist Tiffanie Darke and decided to try and buy no more than five items a year. Obviously a tough challenge since I'm two down, but there were only four items on my shopping list, so I feel oddly optimistic (or delusional, you decide) about my chances.

What does shopping well mean to you? What are your shopping goals if at all, this year?