“At some point the line blurs between what is mine and what is someone else’s. We trade for keeps, or exchange belongings for so long their origins become forgotten: yours or mine? In this way, the clothing I wear tells stories, an atlas of people I love, countries I’ve lived, experiences I’ve weathered. I remember the shells because I remember the people.”
Jenna recently published an essay I love, titled “Clothing I Have Loved and Lost.” Inspired by her, I want to take a closer look at my own closet.
Last night, I went shopping. No, I did not go to the mall. I went to Caro’s, where she and Mac prepared a feast of caesar salad and meatballs with bucatini. As we enjoyed a nightcap by the fire, the dogs finally asleep, Caro and I slipped upstairs. For me, shopping is more akin to a concierge service. More literally: my generous, fashionable friends discarding items from their wardrobes for me to comb through.
When I look through my closet, I don’t see brands. I see people. Rachel’s yellow flower dress, the one Jenna wore to Take A Break last summer. I see Sarabeth’s BDG black cardigan that I swiped from her closet after she moved to Kenyon. There’s Jenna’s Carhartt overalls, Caro’s striped Gap turtleneck I wear every other day, my aunt’s gray-checkered wool coat. I have a JCrew skirt from Michelle that she said she got in eighth grade. I sit here wearing Ashley’s L.L. Bean jeans (they’re perfect, if you’re wondering).
I think it’s difficult to write about clothing without writing about bodies, but I’m going to do it anyway. Bodies are personal. I’m still trying to keep up with the gymnastics of my relationship with my own physical self. If I was thinking about bodies, which I’m not, I might make a point that possibly what I love about these hand-me-downs is also the magic of fitting into them at all.
***
I ask Caro:
Does it feel good to get rid of clothes in general? Or feels better when giving to me?
She replies:
Feels good to clean out but when I leave them in a donation bin I don’t know what happens to them. I care deeply about my clothes even if they were weird or unflattering or a mistake to buy - each one has a story and I like knowing it’s going on to someone else. The richer the story the harder it is for me to donate it somewhere where I know they might just throw it out.
Bonus points if it’s a close friend who sends me pics in them lol
I like that they have a new life
I send back a picture of me, wearing her baby blue gap turtleneck and impossibly soft cream cardigan with marbled buttons, both scored from my major haul last night.
All I ask — if you’re reading this, and you’re filling boxes for the donation center, just let me have a look first?