Building a closet full of happy
I’d never make it as a fashion blogger. For one thing, I don’t have a professional photographer boyfriend. Or a decent camera with a remote control. Or a selfie stick (or however it is those women are getting full-length, perfectly in-focus snapshots of themselves seemingly caught crossing the street, impeccably dressed. I don’t even own a full length mirror. I don’t know how my bottom half fits with the top until I see myself in the glass door at the supermarket.
But those are technical issues. My main disqualification for fashion blogging is that I lack the flair chromosome. Fashion is an inscrutable mystery to me, and always has been. It’s not a skill set I possess naturally, or will ever come by easily. Therefore it fascinates me. People who can coordinate complex layers of garments, patterns, textures, with multiple accessories–in other words, people who are put together–are another species. Like mantis shrimp, with eyes that have 12 types of color receptors to my paltry three.
I keep trying to crack the code. And just when I think I’ve figured some of it out (Eureka! I TIED my belt!), the mantis shrimp people go and change it.
It’s a fun puzzle. I’m an artist and a tinkerer, and I like learning the rules of things, so I can figure out how to break them. Ask any kid with a screwdriver in hand, and he’ll tell you: you’ve got to take stuff apart to know how to put it together.
I came across the concept of a capsule wardrobe last fall, and it must be in step with the 2015 zeitgeist, because suddenly it’s all over my social media feeds. Everybody’s doing the capsule wardrobe. Especially on Pinterest. It’s this year’s kale.
I think my original entry point was Project 333, but as I dug deeper down the rabbit hole, I swung more toward Unfancy, whose taste is closer to mine, and who is a little more elastic about the parameters.
The parameters are what’s appealing. The basic concept is that you pare your wardrobe down to a set number of items per season. Some, like Project 333, include nearly everything in that number: jewelry, outerwear, shoes, etc. Others, like Unfancy, are more liberal in the interpretation. Either way, the idea is that by intentionally limiting the number of clothes you have, you’ll become more mindful and creative about what you wear.
I fell in love with the notion right away, but when I posted about it on Facebook, I was surprised to get highly polarized reactions. Some (I’d venture to say they are mantis shrimp people) were baffled. What on earth could be the point of limiting one’s choices of what to wear? Others wryly responded that they’d have to expand their wardrobes to hit the maximum allowable number of garments–minimalists by necessity or nature.
And then there were the people like me, who want to dress fashionably, but are generally overwhelmed by the scope of it all. Thirty three (or 37, or 30-ish) is a finite number, a fixed point in an ever-shifting sea of choices. Three months is a timeframe we can work with, without forcing an identity crisis.
I decided to have a go at it, starting with the new year. Our mid-southern seasons are aligned a little differently than the standard fashion calendar year, so my winter capsule would go from December through February, rather than the suggested Jan-Mar span. And since December has come and gone, that means I only have to live with my choices for two months! However, I’d like credit for having purged several trash bags worth of clothes at the end of the year, in the course of trading my big bedroom closet for a much smaller one.
(Note that ninety per cent of the purged items were party outfits, bought out of desperation at the eleventh hour, because I had “nothing to wear” to social events, where I spend ten percent of my time. Meanwhile, I was down to two pairs of jeans and a few shrunken t-shirts to get me through the other ninety percent I spend at home. Mantis shrimp people, don’t judge. Mere mortals like me need help.)
I’m developing this first capsule as I go, keeping a little journal of what I manage to pull together each day, what pieces are keepers, and what feels missing. A book of outfit recipes.
The goal is to have a closet that makes me smile instead of sigh when I open it each day. To get dressed on the first attempt, instead of the fourth or fifth, and to get on with things without all the negative self-image crap trailing behind me all day like toilet paper stuck to my shoe. The past few years have been the Second Coming of age thirteen in so many ways, and I’m so done with it.
So, what do you think? Does the capsule wardrobe sound like a useful strategy to you, or an instrument of oppression? What’s your relationship history with fashion? I’d love to know.