Pandemic boredom found me scrutinizing my wardrobe (and myself) more critically than I have in years. I embarked on a project to up my style game - results are mixed. Right now, at the picnic table on the screen porch, I’m wearing a ragged old tee, hand-me-down cotton capris that Tan France says we must never wear at our age, and a two-dollar flannel from the local consignment shop. If I go anywhere today, I’ll throw on a sports bra (because boobs) and call it done. Old habits die hard.
There has been some success, though, and I’ll share here. There will be some brand-dropping, but nothing is sponcon (wouldn’t that be special).
The styling service, Stitch Fix, has been fun if not always fruitful. They have solved my pants crisis, which is a triumph. After giving them all my info (measurement, taste, budget), they found several pairs that are fairly perfect. For the first time in decades, I have pants that I like and that actually fit. I would recommend the service on that point alone. They also sent me some items that almost comically missed the mark. An assortment of nana blouses. A few shirts with beads and tassels, and a horrid tie-dye tee dress — how did they read Hepburn/Rosselini and think hippie? (I like to think that my beloved Birkenstocks are the only sign of my inner hippie.) The stylists were often wrong. But they were right often enough that I have some viable choices. Also, the service taught me that I am, in fact, usually a Large, and not the Medium I’ve assumed forever. Clothes are so much more comfortable now. My mother reports the same — I gave her a pair of L sweatpants and she’s a convert. “I never buy large but these are so comfortable!” We’ve all been poisoned by the size police. The medium seemed to fit, but was just never perfect. Size up. You won’t regret it.
I gathered some sweats and tees from Ye Olde Big Box, and found a few specific things online all by myself. A long Madewell space dyed sweater dress that I love, but will probably only ever wear on the couch. A great LL Bean jacket to replace the secondhand fleece pinched from Steven’s closet. Gardening overalls from Duluth Trading for all that gardening I’m going to do (ahem). A great bathing suit, after years of searching (long torso, another lesson learned). A summer dress straight out of third grade that feels like perfection in a heat wave.
Favorite recent acquisitions: Black Blundstones and Smartwool boot socks. An inherited intaglio ring with a mystery Greek (Roman?) profile. Cotton sweatpants and a tunic sweatshirt in a matching muted plum (Steven calls me a Branch Davidian when I wear them, because of the cult vibe, but I love them and don’t care).
Here’s the thing, though: I still default to soft tatters. The old, worn, not-ready-for-primetime duds are my favorite. It’s nice to pull together a style-adjacent ensemble that fits for the occasional appointment or the trip to Trader Joe’s, but as soon as I get home, it’s back to frumpy comfort. I’m almost always home, so the need for style is questionable. It’s good to have options, though, just in case I’m ever invited anywhere again.
What have I learned from this pandemic rabbit hole?
Comfort is queen.
It feels good — important, even — to tend my style for a change.
I feel more confident in clothes that I actually like, and that fit well.
Style is personal and it only takes a little (a weird ring).
Size up!
I feel better in cult plum than I ever did in the $7 pants.
I’m drawn to prints (see third grade and space-dyed).
I don’t wear makeup or do a thing with my hair, but omg the chunky Greek (Roman?) ring and the stompy black Blundstones make me feel fabulous. I relax in them. It’s my armor.
I still welcome the hand-me-downs, the happy recycled discoveries.
I need a winter coat.
I still kind of want a caftan.
This is a brave new world for me. I bought more clothes in quarantine than I ever have in my life. I’ve unsentimentally purged everything that doesn’t fit or isn’t favored. I may still wear a tattered mishmash, but it’s intentional. I’ve chosen to keep what hangs on my body because I like it, not because it was free and at hand. The two dollar flannel is wonderful and Tan France will never understand my love of soft capris in season. I’m chasing my best life in them. I imagine that Katherine and Isabella would, too.
There’s still a part of my brain that thinks this style concern is futile and maybe even a bit silly. In the face of climate apocalypse, global pandemics, and the possible slow death of democracy, one wonders if the search for the right threads is worthy. But I’m undeniably happy about the new swimsuit for last dips in the lake. I’m looking forward to curling up in my soft sweater dress to watch the fall season of the J6 hearings. Marching out in November in new pants and black boots to vote for salvation. Making Christmas cookies in my cult basics. It’s good to flirt with style, apocalypse be damned. Might as well go down feeling cute and comfy.
I’m probably not going to write much for the next few weeks. My daughter is moving to LA (!!), about as far away as possible, and we’re wrapping up her last days here. And then, I’m off to Maryland to help my dad through another surgery. There may be drama! There will be tears! And then, maybe I’ll write about it. Happy September!