The struggle of wearing the clothes
How difficult can it be, wearing clothes...
I HAVE this idea. If you wear your clothes enough, they stop being clothes you own, and become yours. There could, in fact, be a route to a “perfect wardrobe” after all—something I had personally never given up on, even though my attempts again and again had proven less than fruitful. How difficult can it be, buying clothes.
Turns out, very, or then the elusive perfect wardrobe is less about looking the world through clothes, evaluating every piece of media form the point of view of is what this person is wearing here something I too could be wearing, less about collecting infinite amount of “inspiration”, never to return to it again, less about looking at everything but the actual clothes hanging in my wardrobe, stuffed on shelves, in Tetris like box formation behind a chicken wire door in the basement guarded only by a small hanging lock that had so far miraculously avoided all the break-ins’ despite my neighbour’s unit already been broken into. But I get it, reselling clothes is a bitch. Electric bike batteries are easier to move. I’ve been trying to sell a pair of Ghesquière era Balenciaga chelsea boots with 11cm heel for a good year now. Which is why I was tempted by this idea of what if I didn’t have to sell anything, what if I could just wear it.
Which is annoyingly simplistic way of looking at this—I have been trying to wear it. Right? If I put it on, and take it of because it just doesn’t do what I want for it to do. I am trying, I have been trying. But, not consistently. Not in different seasons, not with everything in my wardrobe, not in different times of the month, not when I’m already high on confidence, not just when I’m trying to cheer myself up, not several days in a row, not putting it on and sticking to it, sticking to it the next day even if I wanted to take it off all of the day before, not for the third day as well, and the fourth until all of a sudden I accidentally combine it in a way that makes sense, it feels like me, even though I still can’t put into words what that even is, or was it the fact that the clothes worn the day before always feel a bit more familiar, but somehow this thing I hated feels like mine now.
But how could I have possibly know I need to do all that. No one had ever told me.