“Be sure not to wear it in the rain because it will mark the suede,” the sales assistant at Sandro notes brightly as she carefully wraps up my new fringe suede jacket. “Of course” I say, mentally pushing aside the evident issues with the wearability of the jacket. Namely, that I live in London and we tend to have multiple seasons in a day. Rain, sadly, being the most reliable one.
The fringed suede jacket fits perfectly into the aesthetic of the idealised Instagram version of me. She lives between Lisbon and Copenhagen, loves to wear clashing prints and enjoys dramatic sunglasses. She’s fabulous but in reality I would say that my everyday aesthetic is more classic; jeans, solid neutral colours and a strong jacket.
The suede jacket isn’t an isolated incident. Another of my purchases included a pair of pearl-studded, white Gucci loafers, which I believed would be the perfect everyday loafer. A statement, of course, but highly functional and appropriate to wear to work, despite my 30-minute walking commute. This was true for three wears, after which the incredulity of my colleagues at the extravagant nature of the shoes and the pain of wearing them parked them permanently on my shoe shelf. For special occasions only, I assured myself.
A clear disconnect exists between what I’m buying and what I’m wearing. It begs the question, why do I keep buying clothes for a life that I don’t lead? It was time to analyse why I was choosing the wrong clothes and what I could do about it. In an attempt to bridge my personal disconnect, for 30 days I endeavoured to document what I wore every day. The aim of this was to understand where I’m investing my money versus what items in my wardrobe actually see the light of day.
From documenting and categorising my outfits I’ve learned a few things. On the weekends, my look can range from flowy printed trousers to athleisure. But a majority of the time — 37 per cent — is spent working from home, mostly wearing the same American Vintage joggers or Uniqlo loungewear with alternating jumpers. The rest of my week is spent at the office, namely 35 per cent of the time, where I am wearing jeans with a shirt or jumper, occasionally throwing on a blazer on top.
So, why do I have eight blazers, each of which I swore would revolutionise my workwear attire? The latest addition to the collection was one from Isabel Marant Étoile that had a little less structure through the body for a more casual feel. I have worn it several times but not nearly enough to justify the cost.
Another mistake is my footwear. I have a total of nine pairs of winter shoes including boots, loafers (such as the aforementioned Gucci version) and sneakers. But do you know how many of them I actually wear? Three pairs for the most part and the Adidas Sambas featured heavily. If I had to estimate, I wear about 35 per cent of the items in my closet a month. So why do I keep clinging on to and also buying into all the excess?
“We think our clothes speak about who we are; we make bold claims about where we shop and where we don’t as a reflection on our personality,” says Andrea Cheong, author of the book Why Don’t I Have Anything To Wear? Yet, we tend to break our own rules. I tell myself that “I only buy vintage” — until summer rolls around and Zara has a really cute inexpensive dress. These tendencies are aided by the way in which fashion works, with its continual update of new, seasonal items.
The ones we see circulating on Instagram and in magazine spreads with subliminal messaging of empowerment only to make us feel a little worse when they end up sitting in our cupboards. The inspiration for my Gucci loafers was influencer Gala Gonzalez. Her effortless style was something I wanted to emulate; she oozed confidence and power and inadvertently I was trying to shop myself a step closer to that.
“Dress for success” is a popular slogan uttered as a solution for feeling like an imposter. One that seemingly we can absolve with a tap of a credit card and a glamorous new purchase, while the underlying reasons we may feel this way requires a little more work to uncover and overwrite. It’s fun playing dress up but at some level we are robbing ourselves of being able to signal who we are with our wardrobes.
Reflecting on my own wardrobe, the noise is palpable. Growing up in the early 2000s, thinness was widely idealised, especially for women. I started exploring the world of aspirational buying, seeking out too-small jeans that I believed would fit after that next workout or meal plan. But as the years passed and I became more comfortable with the reality of my body, I upgraded from aspirational jeans to frocks and other styles that actually suit me.
The other challenge is the influence of Instagram, which now presents an aspirational aesthetic for every activity and event from birthday parties, to pottery and even running marathons. It’s almost like being a child again and having different Barbies but with outfits you can buy. There are beautiful Stine Goya balloon-sleeve tops that I wear occasionally at birthday parties or weddings, but mostly collect dust.
The crux of the issue with aspirational buying is that clothes tell a story about who we are; it’s our source of non-verbal communication with the world. I have somehow ended up with multiple potential personalities that I find it hard to know which ones genuinely resonate with me. Most importantly, I am spending too much money confusing myself.
So, I want to take back my voice from being an echo of trends and marketing strategies dictated to me, to one that is truly my own by making purchases that resonate with me emotionally. Namely, to take back control of my closet space and wallet by being honest about who I am. I plan to get a little help from Cheong whose book explores the relationship between mental health, fashion and finance.
Hopefully you do not have the same personal disconnect between the life you are buying for and the life you are living. I nonetheless encourage you to document what you wear for a month to understand who you are. It’s obvious to invest in the clothes that you spend the most time in, but to do so, you need to have a realistic idea of what these items are and why.
By categorising your clothes you can gain clarity on why you keep returning to these pieces and use this knowledge to critically evaluate your next purchase. Naturally, our lifestyle can change and evolve. For those experimenting with fashion: rental models, alteration services and swapping clothes might be potentially better vehicles to do so. As I approach a new decade, I think it’s time to stop buying for a future ideal and to get a little more comfortable with the actual me.
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