Week 14: 100 days of…
Solitude, Comedy, Mystery, Generosity, Creases and Comfort
Solitude
Who would have thought clothes got so close to the bone?
Tuesday’s Chinese, red waistcoat. Years ago, I had picked up someone very close, with severe mental health problems, from hospital. They had self-discharged but were visibly not well enough to be on their own. As we walked around the local area, me hoping they’d decide to go back and have their injuries seen to, they told me stories about our past which made no sense. They saw me as someone else; everything I saw was wrong to them. Somehow, we wandered into Oxfam – something we would have done when younger. I absent-mindedly picked up this waistcoat, still trying to hold onto a sense of being there in a situation where I felt lost and disorientated, trying to keep things normal so a casual mention of seeking care might seem undramatic (one of many, wildly different failed approaches). An American tourist approached me in the queue, stroked the satin, quilted waistcoat, its feathery edging, and said, ‘Wow, I’ve been here for ages and I didn’t see this. What a good eye you have.’ It was surreal.
As something to wear? It doesn’t button up now (I used to run when stressed and it fitted well when I bought it) but is a beautiful thing. It does still make other people pleased to look at it. Keep.
The black, faded, v-neck tee underneath has its own, warmer history. Knickerbox did a loose pair of black, drawstring trousers with coordinating tight tee when we were all about 15. We were all obsessed with finding a pair of the trousers as the shops ran out really quickly. I found a pair, one evening after school in Ken High Street station. They didn’t work on my already very curvy figure. I’ve been roughly this height and build since about 14. However, the tee really seemed to work. I bought and loved it.
Faded, somehow without holes, I wore it to meet my friend ZH in Harrods, where she was working, about six years ago. I was in denial about how sad I was in a relationship at the time. ZH looked at me and told me to stand in front of the mirror. I was wearing my faded tee, unflattering, torn jeans, oversized men’s trainers in yellow and green suede and my cycling jacket. ‘Did you cycle today?’ she asked. I hadn’t. I’d tried to dress up. She told me how much she’d always admired my clothes and make up, since we met in the clothes shop we worked in together. She asked what had happened, what was happening. She sent me down to the Mac counter to get some positive attention and an eyebrow pencil, then said to come back and we’d go for lunch and really talk. I can’t bring myself to give the tee up. Keep.
Comedy
One of the highlights of Wednesday was the compliment, ‘I love your ruff.’ This is my first wear of the feather gilet: I’ve been trying to make it blend into an outfit and I think the answer is it will always sit like a ruff, out and proud. The blue, stretch shirt is nicely kitsch, a bit 90s newsreader, but not quite me. The ruff was a hand-me-down from mum; the shirt an Irish charity shop bargain (20 cents!). The silver, cowl necked vest was a recent gift from mum. It’s exactly the style I’d have worn with bootcut black trousers at 17; not quite me right now. Not Keep the shirt and vest.
Lovely shoes – the gunmetal, vintage Kurt Geiger heels. Ripped at the toe and heel, but not shot.
Mystery
Thursday, a lovely, round-necked black top. Where did it come from? On top of the wardrobe. How did it get there? No idea. No recollection, unusually, of acquiring it. Nice, though. Grey blazer – sleeves are too tight. Really nice, but too small. Not Keep. If I ever need to be smart, I have a few other options.
Generosity
Friday’s baby pink top with lace back has very high sentimental value, vs. difficulty to wear. It was a gift from a performer in a very glitzy community theatre company I was working with. I learnt a lot about make up and being glam on that project, especially useful tips for getting the most out of basic make up tools. I should probably Not Keep as I wear so rarely. The navy blue tee underneath is virtually see-through and holey too, it’s probably time to say goodbye to that one.
Creases
The crinkled, pussy-bow grey blouse is not supposed to be crinkled. It takes so long for me, possibly the world’s worst ironer, to get the kinks and wrinkles out of the poet sleeves and fine fabric that I don’t iron it. It deserves someone who will. Not Keep.
The scarf was bought by a relative as a gift, for me, in Morocco. They wore it around their head all holiday in the heat, to absord the sun and sweat. Good thing I love them.
Black, suede, peep-toe heels are surprisingly comfy, those fabled comfy heels. Keep.
Comfort
Sunday’s jumper and collared vest are not a set but the exact same knit and colour. I love it as a combo, although I wouldn’t like the vest on its own. Together they feel sexy and comfy.
100 Days alert! Ruff day was day one hundred of my Why So Many Clothes? experiment. Still going… see you next week.
By Sara Nesbitt Gibbons
