First, a quick hello and welcome to the new folks who found me through my conversation with in her wonderful newsletter Morning Person. Given that much of our chat was around influencing, consumption and embarking on no buy years, it’s quite fitting that in today’s newsletter I’m talking about the joy of wearing the same thing.
During my career as an influencer I acquired a lot of clothing. It became so overwhelming that I was doing monthly closet clean outs. Few things felt special anymore because everything was “replaceable.” One memory that stands out is a partnership I had with a brand where the theme was “sustainability.” For the first post they asked me to pick a few styles from their website. A week later a massive box showed up at my door. It was filled with clothes, most of which I hadn’t chosen, and half of which didn’t fit me. It was the antithesis of sustainable. I was pissed, and made it known to my management at the time (unclear if they passed along the message). Things like this happened more often than I’d like to admit.
As an influencer I found myself wearing things that I didn’t necessarily love, but I knew would perform well. This clouded my perception of what I liked, and in the process I lost a sense of my personal style, and a part of myself. This might sound ludicrous, but the notion of wearing clothing that I love and feels comfortable in some ways feels like a radical act. I was confusing feeling good in my clothing with feeling good because other people liked how I looked in the clothing (and it was making me a lot of money).
That discovery transformed how I get dressed and the way I think about shopping. When those urges pop up to buy something I ask myself, is this a want or a need? I examine the why, and give myself some time before I make the decision. For example, living in Vermont the opportunities to dress up are pretty rare. I’ve only had a handful of instances in the last two years to dress up for an event or special occasion. The dress in the photo below sat in my closet for 3 years, even though I loved it, I felt like I couldn’t wear it repeatedly because it was too obvious. Since I started my no buy journey, I’ve worn it at least 5 times.
This dress is probably not something you’d find in a traditional “capsule wardrobe.” During my influencer years, I was on a relentless quest to perfect my wardrobe, only to realize, the effort was futile. I thought if I had a closet where everything could go together, and mix and match seamlessly, it would make my life easier or make my style better. In reality, it made me embark on an impossible never ending search for that one thing to “complete” my wardrobe. And it left me exhausted by my own closet.
If I actually took pictures of what I wore everyday you would see dozens of photos of the Alex Mill pants below. They’re comfortable, I love how they fit, and I reach for them the majority of the time. Would these be popular on Instagram? I have no idea. I can’t link to them anyway because the style no longer exists. The point is, I really don’t care. And that might seem silly, but when you’ve spent almost a decade dressing for an algorithm, it’s pretty great to finally wear things because they feel good.
Rufina of Totally Recommend recently wrote:
If most stylish people who weren’t trying to sell you something actually documented what they wore every week, you might find it pretty repetitive. I personally wear my favorite pair of pants at least once each week. A lot of people in the world do.
And when I’m actually obsessed with something, my options don’t change much. If something really works, I stick with it. It’s not exciting, but it’s the truth.
But for the sake of fresh content, new clothes and items have to appear in your face every week. Clothes that the person recommending might not have even worn, touched, washed, or considered for longer than a quick photo op—chosen possibly based on commission percentages or how likely you are to buy…
The influencer model of building a wardrobe isn’t sustainable. But in an industry where you can’t profit from items that are “old,” it only makes sense that you have to keep sharing what’s new. While the rest of the internet tries to keep up, most probably don’t understand the majority of that influencer’s closet was likely acquired at little to no cost. It’s easy to love something you got for free and that makes you a few hundred bucks every time you share it.
What I’ve found since no longer adding new things to my wardrobe all the time is that there’s actually a lot of joy in wearing the same thing. Sure it’s easier, but there’s also something particularly satisfying about knowing what you like, and letting that be enough.