Weeks 15 and 16: New Beginnings…
News
Yaha! Finally able to catch up with real time. One of the reasons my Why So Many Clothes blog has been a week behind has been because I’ve been in the first trimester of pregnancy. Now in my fourteenth week, and all’s well with the cub.
Morning sickness (welcome as a symptom of a busy baby, yet, it’s odd vomiting while doing my teeth) has meant that I haven’t been able to do a photo every day, which I was strict about doing earlier in the project to try and reflect mood and atmosphere. Catching up on Week 15’s images, I can’t find the grey, off-the-shoulder, stretchy, long-waisted jumper worn over a black cocktail dress. This happened a lot before the Keep and Not Keep boxes. Things would disappear for years, only to reappear in a rucksack somewhere, or in a dressing up box, or under a box.
Archaeology of My Bedroom Floor
One day I will dig it up – hopefully when moving house very soon. The top itself is an artefact: exhausted, like the pale imitator I bought later from H&M and wore recently, but extremely high in sentimental value. It came from a department store in Bangkok, when I was shopping with my Bangkok partner-in-crime NR. The good thing about being in a shop where the assistants assume you don’t understand them is when they say ‘really beautiful, wow’, to their colleague, not in English. Later that day, I wore the top to Thewet Pier, to a bar overlooking the Chao Praya river, where brilliant musicians played all night. NR and I had gone out with all the girls we worked with for the first time, and there was a great sense of companionship among us all. I wore my Charles Jourdain shoes, also bought that day. They were the stuff of fairytales – sadly, I later broke both heels on a carpeted stair at a ball at university. The ball was not the stuff of twinkling stories: ugly, red, swirly carpets, a cheesy disco, in a central-Bristol hotel reception room. The open-sided, wooden bar over Bangkok’s Chao Praya river, at the bottom of the flower market, lit warm in the body-temperature night; the unsuitable guitar player. That was a dream.
To the present. I got ‘oy-oyed!’ by a passing van, in Islington. I was confused: the bump is starting to show. Then I thought, yes, pregnancy is sumptuous.
Old Favourites
Tuesday. The black, corset top is a bit cheesy and blocky. The black, crinkle blouse is losing its crinkle but I’ll keep it till it totally sags. The hairy coat – my cat coat – became eccentric in the rain, with a borrowed see-through umbrella patterned with blue Dacshunds, a luminous green leather handbag, a big canvas shopper and a sick bowl. It’s really had its time, and though well-loved, it’s too enormous to keep for sentimental reasons.
Scruff Love
Wednesday’s Status Quo tee shirt is dated ‘In the Army Tour ’86 – ‘87’. It’s mine. Mum and LM used to take little me to the festival, as they were involved in its inception. I remember seeing Alice Cooper and the Milky Way, and peeling my first potato.
Welcome scruffiness there. The terracotta cycling jacket, however, must go. It’s the cycling jacket I mentioned last week (Week 14), which my dear friend ZH noticed marked a sadness and treated with some tough love. I just wore it for cycling after that, but cycling is something I won’t be doing for a long while.
The wellies I bought from an elderly, Spanish-speaking lady who was selling items from chairs. Everything on the chairs was £1. The wellies were on the floor, ergo £5. We negotiated three pounds, in spite of having no language in common. I have enough wellies, but the Wolf likes them so they’re his now.
Cupboard Love
I tried to wear the stripy tunic, but it was too tight on my arms and bust. I was relieved. Although the tunic has strong memories, as a top I bought and wore in Lebanon to teach in, I really didn’t want to wear it and wore it a lot during the sad, scruffy time the cycling jacket belonged to. I also have a lot of other artefacts: writing by the students, presents… and other clothes. And in my heart and soul.
I wore the Mackintosh-style printed blouse that came out of a bag of materials in the craft cupboard at the office. My boss at the time suggested I try it on, and we both thought it fab. The neon orange halterneck used to be my lucky election day top. Absolutely, definitely Not Keep.
Two-nics
Friday’s lilac tunic was on top of the wardrobe for maybe giving away. Wearing it again, I like it. The lilac, knitted vest underneath is backless and gorgeous. One day I will go to the beach. Keep.
Saturday’s black tunic is from the market in the place in South Lebanon where I worked. I still like it, though have hardly worn it since. It’s great as a maternity top, too. The red wedge boots were a Christmas present from my mum. I adore them. Enough to talk to them.
Dregs
Things are getting a bit weird now. The rosy, ribbon-tie vest peering out over the neck of the red jumper I love, even if I have to be 22 forever in it. The glittery red jumper was a gift from mum. I wasn’t sure about it but kept it, as with many things, because I love my mum’s thoughtfulness. Today I was finally told I’m showing (although the same person agreed it was partly the chub of my tummy and me sticking it out). I am keeping this top because it makes me look pregnant. The starry cardi is too much, and verging on beige. I don’t beige. Not Keep.
Cat Lady
Oh. The background of the cat top is beige. But it’s got cats sleeping on clouds and mushroom cottages on it. Keep.
The little, soft brown cardi with trim is a bit twee but I do like it. The studded, black flat sandals (first wear, had them for six months) are promisingly comfy for new shoes. I have to admit, after the experience with the Marc Jacobs shoes in Week 13, and the general ‘alternation’ of heels with flats throughout this experiment: I’m not a heel wearer anymore, and am unlikely to become one in the next ten years. Keep the flats. Especially the ones with pretty, black, pyramid beads on.
I love Wednesday’s black, embroidered jumper with a cheongsam style collar and bead fastening. It’s a bit kitsch, in a great way.
Scan Outfit – Yeah! Baby!
Thursday is the day of our scan. A day of celebration. There is a part of me which is scared, and thinks it’s tempting fate to wear an evening dress over a cashmere tank and leggings to the 12-week scan. How will I feel in that waiting room, in those clothes, if something has gone wrong?
I trust my body and instincts. All is well. I go to welcome life in my scan outfit.
And all is, thankfully, well. The cub is healthy and growing beautifully.
Wave
I’m coming to the end of clothes that fit. After one hundred and ten days of wearing everything in my wardrobe, it’s time to start coming to a close because my gorgeous, changing body is outgrowing everything left to wear.
There are many more clothes – although they don’t fit (I have to cut the waistbands of my tights and leggings) – I will show you them all next week. Hee hee.
I’m also going to keep some of those for if I have a daughter, which I’d love to share with you before I go.
And now? On Friday, with the loose-knit, white, baggy jumper, is a deep, dark blue velvet dress bought second-hand for comfortable wear during pregnancy. Since I conceived, I’ve felt like the sun is coming out inside me; the image of the sea has been getting stronger. These are things I’m writing poems about, but have also chosen to wear as many sea-colours and shapes as I can get away with.
I think that’s as many as I want.
So, on Friday, I go out dressed as a wave.
On Saturday and Sunday, I wear the last two things in the wardrobe that fit. My bad influence on the lovely green jumper has created a ladder and a few holes in one side. The red, stretchy jumper has an unfortunate badge hole on the centre of the boob (when? how?).
I can keep them both for wearing under dresses. I might regret not having them, although their striking colours and textures might clash with other layers and make me look unlike myself. They will hide winter arms.
No. Not Keep. I don’t need contingency clothes. Everything is going to be alright.
And clothes are not for hiding.
Looking at my wardrobe after 112 days of wearing everything in it: Why So Many Clothes?
Because I am here.
By Sara Nesbitt Gibbons
