Cloudscape in the window of the Restoration Cafe in Manchester, New Hampshire, where I met my friends Zina and Melanie for brunch on Tuesday.
Today I'm back home and pretty wiped out. My agenda is to piddle around, get the house back in order, and recover from four wonderful but relentless days. I taught two sessions of an upper-division writing tutorial, conferenced individually with students, gave two readings (one to alumni, one to a large public audience), went to Mass, met and talked to a lot of people, was taken to dinner . . .
Again, it was all great, but it was a lot, packed into four days, including some fairly arduous travel --- arduous in the sense of having to truck myself and my luggage (including books on the outbound journey) for miles through the Charlotte airport, then wedge myself into a miniscule window seat (I like the window, but on these little commuter planes, aisle is king, I find), and fight off claustrophobia for the 2.5-hour flight. Mercifully I didn't have any connections, and aside from a delay going out on Sunday, it all was smooth, but I would not choose to travel that way. Very glad I'm driving to Texas in a couple of weeks.
Today I need to
*walk the dog
*order groceries
*do some clothes-washing
*unload the dishwasher
. . . all that kind of thing. I'm going to piddle with some writing, but not worry about Substack essays today. I've just received a friend's debut novel for which I agreed to write an endorsement, so I think I'll start reading that as well. Going to take it easy, which I hope is not going to turn out to be a case of Famous Last Words.
It was 25F when I left Manchester yesterday. Today in my corner of North Carolina the high is 70, which is MORE LIKE IT, thank you. The cold was invigorating, the snow beautiful, but I'm ready for a little intimation of springtime.
Wearing today:
Lots of shots, to make up for the fact that I didn't even take a photo yesterday (but I was basically repeating Sunday's outfit anyway).
*Secondhand Not Perfect Linen Bay tank in Oatmeal, bought January 2025, last worn February 1. First year of wear.
*Thrifted Wonderley green lyocell button shirt, bought at Goodwill December 2023, second year of wear (no idea when I last wore it --- it's been a while).
*Secondhand Old Navy pink jeans, bought January 2025, last worn January 27. First year of wear.
*Secondhand Birkenstock Rosemead clogs, bought February 2023, soon to enter on a third year of wear.
Is this outfit "flattering?" Not if by "flattering" I mean "making me look thin." But there are lots of ways for clothes to flatter a body and the person resident in it --- by reflecting back that person's coloring, by accommodating that person's way of moving and being, by sketching a congenial silhouette or evoking a congenial mood. Not that any of that means any more, objectively, than "flattering" does, but it's hard to find a good language for talking about clothes, to communicate something real in a clear way. But then, so much about our clothing is a function of our most subjective and personal intuitions, and not of any algorithm or formula whose outcome is looking good. There are, of course, such algorithms and formulae. The Rule of Thirds, which I invoke with some frequency, is a good example. It's a good paradigm to have in mind, because it helps you know how to hit the target of feeling better in your clothing. But it doesn't explain everything about why your clothes do or don't feel or look right. You're allowed to make outfits that don't take that rule, or any other, into serious consideration.
Here, after days of dresses, tights, and tall boots --- I just basically wore a uniform of minimally changing elements within a very tight palette for my entire "Visiting Scholar" turn --- I'm welcoming the ease of these wide jeans. They're a good weight for today's weather. Obviously, as the first photo shows, in the later spring and summer I can just wear them with this linen tank. They're lightweight enough to work for all but the very hottest days, I think. But they also seem to carry a big over-shirt well. These fabrics have enough drape that I don't feel I'm wearing a series of tents --- I am not wearing revealing or body-conscious clothes, but although I'm relaxed and informal, I'm not hiding in my clothes, either. This tank might look better tucked in, but there's enough swing and curve in the line that I don't think it's too boxy worn untucked. I really like it, in fact. The top is cut for a woman's body and hints at the existence of my waist, even though it's not highlighting it. This is a completely different drape and feel than a big men's t-shirt, which just imposes a big square on the body, thus not doing a whole lot for the female form. The scoop neck helps, too. It's plenty covering and modest (a word I hate, but you know, sometimes it fits), but again, graceful and feminine, balancing the face and neck nicely.
I also like how my green shirt adds a color I especially like next to my face (in the winter, an off-white can make me look kid of wan --- not so much a problem in the summer), but also an extra vertical line, whose bottom hem breaks up the line my top's hem establishes. So again, even though I'm wearing a lot of body-skimming things, the staggered lines create a sense of movement in the whole outfit. And the soft colors just feel delicious together, like the coming of spring.
And again, my soft plummy Birkenstocks just feel kind of neutral.
I've washed my hair more than usual this week, since I was making so many public appearances. Today I'm glad just to let it go. Claw-clip updo for the win.
Meanwhile . . . since I'm not doing any serious work today . . . let's just take more time to ruminate on clothing, shall we? I read this post with interest this morning and have been having Thoughts.
I admire this woman's commitment to sustainability in her clothing choices --- I also just like her style. And I'm intrigued by her close tracking of her clothing wears, for pretty much each item of clothing (beginning with shoes, which I can understand, since those are often a major investment up front).
I both do and don't agree (ETA: well, largely, I think I do agree) with her assessment of sustainability as measured in cost-per-wear. It's true that yes, getting some inexpensive secondhand item (such as the green shirt I'm wearing today, which cost about four dollars) down to mere pennies per wear is not necessarily an indicator of sustainability. By that measure, I could wear this shirt four times and think, Welp, done with that. Goal achieved. In other words, you might really not be wearing what you own for very long, or doing anything that really helps you consume less.
That's one reason why I've been pretty selective about what "wears" I count. I don't care how many times in a calendar year I wear this green shirt. Cost-per-wear is already in the negative numbers, even though I haven't worn it that often. That's not what matters. I am interested in how long my bigger-ticket clothing items (read: dresses) start to cost me nothing to keep wearing, but overall, my interest is in the long game. (ETA: here is where I begin to diverge from her measurements of what is sustainable in terms of clothing purchases and wears).
It's not how many times I wear something. 100 wears does not seem like all that magic a number to me. In fact, I am no longer regularly wearing the dress I wore for 100 days in a row in 2021, because those 100 days took a toll on that dress (so did redyeing it, but it was already pretty faded and worn by the time I did that). What seems to matter, especially in terms of learning to enjoy what I already have, to consume less, to stop chasing dopamine hits, is how long I wear something. How many years an item of clothing remains an active and enjoyable element in my wardrobe feels far more important to me than how many times I've worn it. That's why, especially for secondhand items that didn't cost me that much up front, longevity has become the real goal. I love that there are things in my closet that I've been wearing for more than a decade --- in a few instances, two decades. To buy things I truly want to keep and am likely to keep wearing, regardless of the cycle of trends: That's the first goal. And, once bought, to keep, in fact, wearing them: That's the other goal.
As always, I have to give myself grace for misses. Sometimes I think something's going to work, and then when I have it it turns out that it doesn't. I've gotten fairly good at minimizing misses, but they do happen, and that's just life. I have a number of shoes I'll be reselling, when I get around to cleaning them up and photographing them, because they are just not serving me in the way I had envisioned --- and that's all right. But the goal (the ideal, anyway) is not to buy something unless I'm sure I'm going to wear it, and then when I have bought it, to commit to wearing it until it literally falls apart, which I hope will not be for many years, because I do try to buy good-quality clothes.
This ideal seems linked not only to sustainability, but to the art of settling into a consistent (though not rigid) sense of personal style. Granted, you have to do some experimenting --- that's part of not being rigid. You have to give yourself permission for some trial-and-error in the course of finding out what you like, and you have to accept that that's going to be a continual process, not something that really ever has a total endpoint. But you can try things without, for example, getting so swept up in a trend or an idea that you buy an entire big wardrobe . . . only to realize a year later that you don't really like any of it.
I wonder, actually, about people who get on the Wool& wagon, for example --- as indeed I have done --- and quickly replace their old wardrobe with a whole new one, just because they've gotten on that wagon. People talk about dropping $700 on one clothing order, and . . . well, no judgment here, because if I thought I could do that, I might very well do it . . . but for me, anyway, that would be total impulse buying, conducted in the heat of a moment that might not last. You can get carried away on an impulse that makes you hate all your old wardrobe and feel that your life will be better if you just clothe yourself entirely in a new one. THAT is the kind of trial-and-error I'd counsel against. Buying one thing outside your old comfort zone because you want to try out something new: yeah, fine, good. Giving your closet an entire makeover overnight because you have fallen in love with a new idea: maybe not great? You can make over your closet (I have done just that), but I think it's better to exercise some patience, ask yourself some questions about what's already there, and move gradually, with care, toward new things you feel you might like. The idea is not to find yourself reselling a ton of stuff six months later because your feelings have changed again. That does just feed our society's large patterns of waste. I try, with variable success, not to repeat those patterns.
Anyway, I am glad I gambled on these jeans, for instance. I wasn't sure about them --- I wasn't sure about wearing trousers at all --- but now that I have them, I love them. They were a pretty good gamble, to be honest. I knew I loved the color. I felt pretty sure I'd like the shape (though now they're telling us skinny jeans are back . . . but I like these anyway). The weight seemed versatile, as in not too heavy for warm weather. I knew I could resell them if they didn't work, but my aim of course is to try not to buy things I won't keep.
I feel good enough in these that I think I'd go on wearing them even if everybody else in the world was wearing skinny jeans (though I might also buy a pair of skinny jeans, if they came in a high-enough rise, because I did like that silhouette the last time around). I feel good in them because they feed into a particular . . . I am seeking a word that isn't vibe, but that's what I mean . . . a particular feeling that I like my clothes to have: of fluidity, comfort, enjoyment of color, and communication of creativity. I like looking like somebody's art teacher (only without the paint spatters). There's something kind of Southern-aristocratic-bohemian that is in my genes and also in my taste. This outfit feels like that something, and I think I'd want that something even if fashions radically changed. Also, I'm old enough that I can do what I damn well please, and that helps. In fact, it can be a whole aesthetic.
I feel good enough in these that I think I'd go on wearing them even if everybody else in the world was wearing skinny jeans (though I might also buy a pair of skinny jeans, if they came in a high-enough rise, because I did like that silhouette the last time around). I feel good in them because they feed into a particular . . . I am seeking a word that isn't vibe, but that's what I mean . . . a particular feeling that I like my clothes to have: of fluidity, comfort, enjoyment of color, and communication of creativity. I like looking like somebody's art teacher (only without the paint spatters). There's something kind of Southern-aristocratic-bohemian that is in my genes and also in my taste. This outfit feels like that something, and I think I'd want that something even if fashions radically changed. Also, I'm old enough that I can do what I damn well please, and that helps. In fact, it can be a whole aesthetic.
Anyway. The dog needs to go out. I guess I should get up out this chair and take her.
LUNCHTIME UPDATE:
To continue what I was saying . . .
Obviously, things become more complicated if you are in the middle of life changes (suddenly you have to have clothes for a new job, for example) or drastic weight loss. It makes sense, especially in the latter case, that you aren't buying clothes to wear for the next ten years, because you hope the clothes you're wearing now are not going to fit you for anything like that long. And you do have to wear something now --- and you don't want to wait until you arrive at some magic number on the scale or set of measurements before you let yourself look nice. You deserve to look nice today, and to feel good in the clothes that fit you.
You might maybe not buy as many, because you know they're short-term (this is not a recommendation, just a supposition --- what you do to feel good is up to you). You might think in terms of a smaller but hard-working wardrobe of things that mix well with each other but either don't require much outlay of money (because you hope you will in fact be replacing them sooner rather than later) or else are the kind of investment pieces that hold their value so that you can resell them well. Or you might do none of this. Again, up to you. But in situations like this, you have other things to think about and prioritize besides some "sustainable purchasing" goal, and that makes sense.
Inevitably when I talk about clothes, I am thinking first about me and how I do things. My body might change some, and I'm certainly working out and making food choices that might help it do that, but it's not going to change that dramatically (I hope). I can mostly buy things in the expectation that they will still fit ten years from now, God willing that I'm still here to wear them. These pants I'm wearing today might not fit forever, and in that case, I am glad I didn't spend that much money on them. I'll wear them as long as they do fit, however long that is, but should things change, I'm not out a lot of money, and I can resell them, or donate them, or pass them along to the Texas girl, and so on. One reason I'm glad I've spent money on dresses more than anything else is that dresses tend to accommodate size fluctuations --- but I like having other options, too.
Anyway, the main thing is to do your best and not try to put yourself in any kind of box where clothing choices become stressful. Clothes are important, but not that important. Doing things with attention to morality is important, but on a hierarchy of moral values --- well, sustainability is frankly kind of a luxury item. You may very well, and very validly, have other more urgent priorities.