Week Nine of Why So Many Clothes: Becoming
Skin Slipping Off
If you’re gonna do it – do it properly, I seem to be thinking this morning, going for the full seventies with flared, navy cord dungarees (Topshop, Glasgow charity shop), Granddad top (new, FCUK) and oxblood, handmade Mary Janes. Usually, I like my dungees, thinking they suit me and look cute while comfy, but today, I feel underdressed, scruffy and weak. Not feeling too well, and getting giddy, it’s like the outfit isn’t supporting me. In the mirror in the toilets at the office, the outfit’s exposing me – weak and vulnerable. It might be the side panels, the skin tones, or just the undaringness of it. Should have worn spiky heels as I’d imagined before getting dressed, although the giddiness would certainly have got the better of me!
And Slipping On
Was going to wear a blouse over the black vest but catching a glimpse of the outfit in the mirror, I saw, after aspiring to recreate them since I was 16, the wardrobes in the film L’Appartement. I don’t have Monica Belluci’s figure – she does – but this is the shape I’ve always wanted from an outfit and have finally found it, by accident. This wardrobe will support me, as it did Romane Bohringer’s otherwise unstable character (who dressed like her friend, Belluci). She looked hot in a short, bikerish jacket, and here’s my Sara Nesbitt Gibbons version: take the basic, L’Appartement shape and add a soft, piratey jacket or a butterfly bolero for day (both bought new, the vest and skirt Mum-hand-me-downs). Or, if you’re Belluci, a silk scarf, and dancing.
The outfit is showing me, but also making a shape of my body that isn’t its outline, isn’t me, but feels like me looking good. It’s also playing, of course, and the clothes are beautiful in themselves, and also comfortable. Great for eating squeaky cheese with NN.
Born to Be a Dancer?
This is the birth of the pink dress, its first day of life outside of my wardrobe. I bought it from Oxfam a couple of years ago, without trying it on, because it’s exactly the same design as the black one I wore for my 21st (and 29th) birthdays. I had found the colour a bit cheap, in electric light, so never wore it. In daylight, it’s gorgeous – deep, glowy, commanding pink. The dress moves well – the skirt of it does. It’s just far too small on my bosom, the seams stopping before they do. Even under the top the line of my bust was made a bit odd, wrongly curved and lined. Much as I think it’s a lovely dress, someone else will wear it better.
Another first was the pair of shoes – soft, lilac suede with scalloped sides, a peep-toe and stiletto heel. They felt gorgeous and look gorgeous in my bag, where they’ve spent most of the day. Keep, because I can’t afford to replace such lovely things, and have weddings coming soon.
First Steps
The blue top was from a shop called Central Park in Bond Street Station, where there was a £10 rail. I was seventeen, and spent money from my first payslip, from my first employee job, on the top. Somehow, it’s withstood urges to get rid of it over the years (too boring, too tight, etc.) and I’m pleased it’s still here. It was an early experience of financial independence, and has proved a useful thing over the years. I like the little slits in the sleeves.
She Got Legs
After last week’s realisation, it may look like the leggings are a cop out, but it really wasn’t that hot, and also, I was dressing up a little bit like the ballet. Fairy Twinkle Toes that I am (not).
Baring most of the legs on Thursday, albeit in leggings, as the tunic is bottom-skimming, and the leggings, slinky. Not something I would have braved before, as it’s not just skin, it’s shape, too, some days, a bit, though never too completely. Trying to learn not to be embarrassed.
Talking of which, although I love the tunic – it feels very me – the second button came undone briefly in the afternoon, at work, where I’d been rubbing at a sausage and mash stain – that really was too much exposure. Keep the tunic, and keep an eye on the fastenings.
Buckled Up
It was also the first day of life for the black PVC, strappy wedges. They were surprisingly comfortable and springboarded me around all day.
Old Skins for New Me
Both the little black dress and chiffon, flower blouse on Friday are things bought or kept by a younger me for when I grew up. The black dress went to my 21st birthday party, the week I became a proper adult, and fell down the stairs of my bedsit, unable to say anything other than ‘Whalefish’, giggling a lot. Adult, indeed.
The blouse was uniform in the clothes shop I worked in at that time, and I chose it as I thought it would be useful when I got older. It was, today – the first time I’ve really started to like it. Must be getting on. I was told, by a seamstress, that I looked very glam, and, she added, why shouldn’t I, wear what you want! It’s silk, folds small as a hanky, and no reason not to Keep.
Added the green leather jacket to look less smart for going for pizza. I answered an ad for this jacket, and cycled to Bath to fetch it, on a romantic first sort-of-date (only one pair of shoes for that man! Lucky him. But, oh, it was to pick up clothes… is there a pattern here?) The coat was, in my eyes, pure Sixties. It used to squeak in the University library, as I moved around the shelves, eliciting dirty looks and shushes. Keepity keep.
Cast Away…
Ouchy shoes. Pointy with a slight heel. Even after eight years, they’re too tight. Not Keep.
…Those Fears
And here is my skin.
Love this dress, especially now I can wear it without leggings or tights. Yes, you can.
Saturday in Guildford, in a garden, loving the Vitamin D and the silk. (Dress originally from Oasis, bought on Petticoat Lane Market, worn for my elderly relative’s 90th birthday, and first Valentine’s day with the Wolf, at Clapton gig, and other, much less occasional occasions).
Endless Possibilities
Concludes this week, on the question of Why So Many Clothes? The haphazard things I’m wearing on Sunday somehow come together to make me feel playful, free, relaxed and well. Each a nice item in their own right, even the silver cardi I was unsure about when I bought it, but like now.
Why did I buy it? It was in a charity shop, so I knew I’d never see it again, and thought, maybe, it might become a skin to slip into one day, depending on what happened to me. It might pay to be more careful about distinguishing between a contingency and a possibility, when it comes to choices for the wardrobe, and its so very many clothes.
by Sara Nesbitt Gibbons
Please note, lovely readers: posts go up a week after the wearing, for personal reasons, although this is likely to change in the very near future.
