Time To Admit I Have a Clothes Habit

(no pun intended)

Every time I buy a new article of clothing, I tell myself that I’m finally filling a hole in my wardrobe, and now I won’t need to buy new clothes ever again.

This is always a lie.

Well, it’s not exactly a lie, because I honestly believe it when I tell it to myself. But let me start at the beginning.

I’ve never thought of myself as someone who’s “into” clothes. For most of my life–especially adolescence and young adulthood–I thought of myself as someone who dresses poorly, like a dork. Who couldn’t possibly be into clothes, because she couldn’t parse the fashion rules of high school.

Looking back now, I can see the point when I went from feeling poorly dressed to well dressed was pretty much when, for a variety of reasons, I felt the confidence to wear clothing marketed to men. Suddenly, I wasn’t trying to look as traditionally masculine as possible but also feminine because getting misgendered was clearly a style failure on my part. Instead, I was trying to look the way I wanted to look. I was thinking about whether my attire pleased me, not anyone else.

Trying out new clothing styles has always been a way for me to express aspects of my gender. I mean: everyone expresses their gender and personality through the clothing and appearance choices they’re able to make. I’m not different. But because my gender expression doesn’t conform to mainstream standards for my gender identity, trying out new, conventionally masculine styles of clothing has felt like a way for me to show and value and inhabit parts of myself that I didn’t know how to share before.

However, that means that I haven’t always been as mindful about sustainable fashion as I’d like to be. Sometimes, that’s because, like everyone else, I get caught up in the excitement of shiny, new styles and wanting to re-invent my look or try a new trend. And, like everyone else, I can’t afford to buy high-quality pieces for everything. But sometimes, it’s also because, unlike everyone else (though still like many people), spending a lot of money on an article of clothing amounts to a hefty gamble that the piece will actually work for me and my body, or at least be something I can alter to do so without ruining it.

Part of my experience sourcing and wearing clothing has always been the difficulty of finding ready-made garments that fit. As a teen, I had a hard time finding trousers that hit below my ankles: most pairs, especially those marketed to women or girls, turned into capris on me. Likewise, even shirts marketed to men that otherwise fit me often leave my bare wrists dangling out of the sleeves. Frequently, brick-and-mortar stores don’t carry the sizes I need to try on (tall and/or long), and I have to order something online just to see if it fits. And, if it does, I’ve internalized that I should get every colour I might want because, chances are, this cut or even this brand are going to disappear by next season.

My tendency to get anxious about maybe needing something in the future and not being able to get it doesn’t help this impulse. What if I have to wear a blue long-sleeved t-shirt for work or for a theatre show or a costume? What if it turns out to be the exact piece I “need” to go with a variety of outfits? Won’t I be sorry later that I didn’t just buy every colour today???

At the same time, I don’t want to be wasteful. I don’t want drawers crammed full of shirts I never wear, or, worse, wear maybe once every year, just enough to keep me dancing on the edge of keep-or-donate.

One of the members of my extended family is family-infamous for perfectionism in shopping. They refuse to buy anything that isn’t ideal along the many (many) metrics they’ve determined are important to them. They can shop for hours, talking intently to sales workers the whole time about a single product, and then not buy anything because it wasn’t exactly what they were looking for.

I don’t want to go that extreme, but I think it would do me good to incorporate some aspects of that mindset. My family member doesn’t seem to worry about missing sales opportunities or feel the urge to just buy something. Sometimes, I get the impression they’re looking for reasons not to buy anything. I’m too often actively looking for reasons to get out my credit card, to get that surge of dopamine from acquiring something new.

The cycle repeats: I buy something I’m OK with but don’t love because I’m not sure I’ll find anything that fits better at a better price. I don’t end up wearing it because I don’t really like it. Then I dither about giving it away because what if I need it? Or, if I altered it/someone else altered it for me, is there any point to giving it away when the fabric recycle will just shred it for stuffing but I might still wear it someday?

Although I’m being charitable toward myself and my motivations, I know my concern about fit isn’t all self-deception: since I had dress shirts made-to-measure, I’ve never wanted to replace them with newer models. (In fact, I’m kind of annoyed that I may have to, after all these years, because the white one has collar rings even the dry cleaner couldn’t get out, and the blue one made of less-stretchy fabric no longer fits post-pregnancy.)

So, for now, my goals are: 1. to stop settling for “OK with” and find pieces whose look, feel, care details, and fit I really love; 2. not to fall for the “but what if I need another/can’t get the other colours later” trap; and 3. to look into the brands I buy and try to get high-quality, sustainable pieces even if it means higher prices. But most of all, I hope I can change my attitude toward clothing: I am into style, and that’s OK, but it means I have to be just as mindful about it as I am about the other activities I enjoy.