a wolf in sheep’s clothing

In this trousseau one will find some mentions of clothes …

I’m not a fashionista. For some hidden and other open-and-shut reasons, clothing and I never mixed or matched. Look-alike-each-other-sisters’ dresses, black with yellow and white stripes tracksuits, the yellow bloomer I refused to wear for PE classes, and an always too tight skirt for church embody some early life buried-alive memories.

With an odd-lot wardrobe and a disinterest in clothes, girlhood and I survived. But, yesteryear bethinkings reveal frayed remnants … remnants of repressed desires – mothballed and packed away in dark corners. And during a flurry of growing-up years and a slowness of living life years a scapegoat for these out-of-the-way desires arose.

I am grateful…

… Once I had a friend, a colleague. I remember a visit. She made tea and told me that the teabag has been used seven times. She believed, no, lived the re-using idea: how many cups of tea she could make using one teabag. The tea was terribly weak, but I remained good-mannered…

I’m not pointing fingers. The seven times used tea bag taught me – about being frugal, about value, about the effort to afford the (metaphorical) teabag, about all processes happening so that I can enjoy a cup of (even weak) tea.

And today, here I am   … fifty plus, frumpish and fitted … I thought clothes and I did not mix and match, but we have a bond. The repressed desire took another form – that of consciousness. A need more than a want motivates me when I’m thinking clothing. This desire has a name today – capsule wardrobes, zero waste wardrobes, minimalist wardrobes, unfancy wardrobes … today I am in (un)fashion.

I have not reached the above 50 wardrobe essentials yet; but I love it when a plan comes together…

Dear reader, do you have a bond with your wardrobe?

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6 thoughts on “a wolf in sheep’s clothing

  1. I seem to have fallen out with my clothes lately. But I’m on a diet, and if it’s a successful diet I will need new clothes, so we could yet be friends again.

    Brilliant post, I did enjoy it :o)

  2. so funny that this strikes the uncanniest chord. i too grew up thinking i wasn’t supposed to think about clothing. fashion was for other people. other mother’s daughters. not me. i wasn’t allowed. or so i thought. but i yearned to be pretty, truth is. i yearned to whirl in a skirt that whistled. maybe even in shoes that clicked or clacked. and so, like you, years passed, and one day i found myself in a job where i did truly need to have what amounted to a night-life sort of uniform. i was a newspaper person, but i had to slink alongside the walls of ballrooms and fabulous places. i had to not stick out, yet not be of the whirl. i turned to a seasoned veteran, an elegant and class journalist who’d covered the white house, who’d flown with first ladies. i asked her, what should i wear. she told me i needed a uniform, and then named six pieces i needed to own: black velvet and something like silk for the bottoms. whites or blacks for the tops. it sounds like a waitress, but it wasn’t. and, like you, i LOVED having a plan i could follow. connect the dots. perfect for someone like me. someone little schooled in fine things to do with that which keeps you from being stark naked!!!

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