My closet, my self

Notes on fashion from a non-fashion girlie

A few years ago, I wrote about my attempt to find my personal style post-pandemic for TZR after a particularly rough morning that found me crying naked in front of my closet. The meltdown had a few precipitating factors — my weight had fluctuated pretty impressively between lockdown and a difficult breakup, and none of my clothes fit me correctly anymore. But there was something else at play, too. Uncoupled, in my early 30s, and living on my own, I started to realize how little I knew about myself and what I actually wanted. And that fact was reflected in my closet.

Call this obvious, but I’ve always really, really loved clothes. I go crazy for bold colors, bright patterns, and mixed prints. But I will also geek out over the tiny details — how a jacket is constructed, or the design of a sew-in tag on a vintage dress, or the reason behind why a designer created a certain sweater during a certain run in their career. It’s probably a big part of the reason why I have a particular hard-on for vintage clothing. There are stories in those pieces, and I am hungry to gobble up every last bit.

But I don’t consider myself one of the Fashion Girlies™ who inhabit New York City like bees inhabit a hive — the harbingers of trends, the keepers of good style. And that probably comes from the fact that, for a long time, I wasn’t really dressing for myself. I was dressing in ways I thought other people would think was “good” or “acceptable” or “pleasing to look at” — men, the fashion set, my mother. So by the time I was sobbing in front of a closet full of clothes with nothing to wear, my wardrobe had become a Frankenstein of “selves” that I didn’t recognize anymore.

I feel like I’ve heard this same complaint from a lot of women who are in their 30s at the moment — women, like me, who spent a good part of their 20s following different “shoulds” of getting dressed every morning and not really digging into what they actually liked. I wish I’d had the confidence to shrug off the ideas of what I was meant to put on my body, but as is well-documented in this newsletter, I’ve been pretty brainwashed by patriarchal standards of living.

Recently, though, I’ve been occupying some kind of middle ground. The summer of my closet meltdown, I made a pact to radically adjust my way of looking at clothing and dressing. I would buy the pieces that made me happy, and that I felt good in, regardless of whether or not they fit into some kind of standard of “flattering” or “good style.” But most importantly, I would stop seeking external validation that what I wore was “cool” This neutral approach to clothing — one that centered *my* feelings and *my* style — has actually helped me to hone in on a way of dressing that (gasps!) makes me feel really good in the morning. And guess what? My closet crying sessions have started to become less and less frequent, because I actually like everything in there. A revelation!

I really wish that there was more writing about clothing for people like me. I feel like so much of the discourse on fashion comes from two ends — well-established fashion types who are gifted A LOT of clothing whose approach to style doesn’t feel accessible, and the “haul” obsessed influencers who buy a shit-ton of fast fashion that aligns with whatever current “trend” is snaking through the Tiktok algorithm. But what about those of us who really love clothes, have a little money to spend, and want to go about building out a wardrobe that makes them feel good, that is functional, and that doesn’t contribute to the excessive waste and exploitation the fashion industry is complicit in? (This is where I will plug “Worn Out” by Alyssa Hardy — a really incredible book that details the ugly side of the current fashion industry’s business model — and two newsletters I follow that I love for fashion — Long Live by Erika Veurink and Gumshoe by Harling Ross Anton.)

I’m not claiming to have good style, or to have the answers to dressing. But I have figured out four things that have made shopping a lot easier for me:

1. Start with the fun pieces first. Most conventional fashion advice will tell you to start with your basics first and then layer in the fun stuff. I think this is shit. For me, it’s always been easier to start with the statement pieces, or the pieces that stand out, first. Not only are they just more fun to shop for, but they will be your guide toward where your style may grow. For me, those “fun” pieces are always leopard print pants, vintage sundresses, textured button-downs, and all manner of jumpsuits. Oh, and a statement coat. I *live* for a statement coat.

2. Figure out *your* basics. I have had a pair of block heel nude sandals for about seven years, and I’ve only worn them a handful of times. Why? Because I considered them a "necessary basic.” But I never wear them! What a waste! Once you have the fun pieces squared away, you can start filling in the blanks with the foundational pieces necessary to make them sing — but your take on them. I don’t wear fitted white button-downs. Instead, I’ve filled my closet with oversized versions. I hate black denim, so I don’t buy it anymore. I do, however, live for a loafer or a ballet flat, so I make sure I have a few pairs on hands for different types of outfits, and I’ve realized I consider red a neutral, so you’ll find it in my closet quite a bit. Your basics are not universal. Find the versions that work best for *you*.

3. Don’t discount accessories. It’s amazing to me how quickly a silk scarf or a good pair of earrings can truly transform an outfit. I don’t spend a ton of money on accessories, but I do try to have a varied wardrobe of extras. For me, that means both statement earrings and simple ones, enough silk scarves to make a large quilt, and a collection of hats — baseball, beanie, beret, straw. Vintage shops and second-hand stores are great places to shop low-cost accessories in a sustainable way.

4. Use rental services as testing grounds. I have both a NUULY and a Rent the Runway account, but I really only use them for certain occasions. I rent through NUULY at the beginning of every season change to help me figure out what I’m missing in my wardrobe. So as the weather has gotten incrementally warmer, I’ve been renting t-shirt dresses, oversized blazers, and cropped flares to see if I actually want to commit to adding them to my wardrobe. It’s a much more sustainable way to try something over buying-and-returning (which rarely sees the clothes going back into circulation). Plus, if I find something I *really* like, I can buy it directly from one of these rental companies — usually at a steep discount.

Maybe these will work for you, too. The most important thing I’ve learned, though, is that there’s no one-size-fits-all approach to dressing. Take what you want and ditch the rest. But if you’re interested in my tips for shopping for vintage, stay tuned — a detailed guide is coming after my visit to A Current Affair this weekend.

Here’s to ditching the closet meltdowns for good, from one non-fashion girlie to another.