I’m sitting on my bedroom floor at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, an empty suitcase in front of me. In five hours I’ll be on my way to the train station, and it would definitely be great if that suitcase had some clothes in it by then. Half asleep and crawling across the carpet, I open the drawer that houses most of my pants and am met with a dark void of identical fabrics and patterns.
What to pack? The options are endless, if endless means three short stacks of folded clothing. Blue jeans, my other pair of blue jeans, black jeans. Grey cargo pants. The exact same cargo pants, but in black. And dark green. A drawer of “Didn’t you wear that yesterday?”s.
Yes, yes I did. I am one of the self-proclaimed greatest outfit repeaters of all time, because despite the sporadic vision of an experimental and diverse wardrobe, I tend to gravitate toward the safety of the clothes I already own and like. If it ain’t broke, just wear slight variations of the same few outfits until the weather changes. And, when the weather does change, throw a hoodie over it.
It’s uncommon these days to find a loud and proud outfit repeater. But, honestly, it’s hard to find an outfit repeater at all. That’s thanks to rapid trend cycles propelled by social media, the contemporary convenience of online shopping and the instant gratification of making a purchase that forms addictive behavior. Buying more stuff at fewer costs has never been easier. Buy one, get one? No thanks.
I’ll buy one, get three. Why not?
Here’s why not: The fashion industry, especially fast fashion, is consuming massive amounts of resources and producing billions of pounds of textile waste and pollution. Our greed sickens me — it sickens all of us.
While I’m by no means an environmental hero for rewearing my jeans four days in a row, and am a little fuzzy on the rules of what qualifies as “sustainable fashion,” I think it’s fair to say that I dance around the fringes of underconsumption.
My methods are imperfect, and my closet is full of contradictions, and the mindfulness is hard to hold onto, but I try to buy new clothing for myself only when it’s destroyed beyond repair or I truly have nothing right to wear for an upcoming occasion. Even then, I like to turn to the closets of my friends with generous borrowing policies (thank you, Tanvi, for the dress I wore to my work banquet) to avoid spending money. And real ones know that my grey and black cargo pants have both survived bike roundabout accidents, with a variety of scuffs and shoddy patches to show for them. Well-worn because they’re well-loved.
Surprise! That’s what it’s all about. That’s what everything is all about!!!! Love!!!!!!
Loving what you already own, and staring at your clothes until you come up with something new to do with them if you don’t.
Three days before I caught a flight to Santa Barbara and began my first year of college, I was sitting on my bedroom floor in a position identical to the one I found myself in as I failed to pack for the train. It was 4 a.m. instead, and in place of an empty suitcase there lay a pair of overalls and scissors. Upset with the way the long overalls looked on me, I decided to cut them into shortalls. Instant revamp.
While I wouldn’t recommend cutting denim freehand with a pair of dull office scissors on a carpet floor, illuminated only with a desk lamp above you, I will always endorse breathing new life into an old outfit to make it make sense. There is so much love and joy and community to be found in the closet of a roommate, or the overflowing racks at the thrift.
Typically, suitcases and vacations are invitations to test the boundaries of overpacking — you leave with more outfits in your bag than there are days in your travels. But I know myself, and I trust that one pair of slacks, one pair of jeans, one pair of black cargo pants, one pair of denim shorts, one pair of athletic shorts and one pair of khaki shorts (for work, unfortunately) will get me through the next two weeks.
Off to the train, with a suitcase full (or, I guess, kind of empty #underpacker) of love!