One of my favourite clothing purchases this year was an H&M cardigan. Yes, you read that correctly. It was secondhand, and I paid very nearly full retail price for it. Yes, you read that correctly too.

“But, Adina,” I can hear some of you go, “why?! And how, when your closet is full of amazing designer pieces?”

I’m going to hold your hand as I say this: not every piece in your closet needs to be amazing. It’s OK if some things are just good enough. Provided – and this is important – that they do one of two things (and preferably both): (1) they fill a functional need, and/or (2) they spark joy. That H&M cardigan? It’s good enough to do both, and I love that for me.

I am as guilty as the next gal of falling prey to the mindset that one’s closet is a work of constant progress, in which even basics need to be ‘elevated’ to their peak iteration. I’ve done a lot of ‘elevating’ in my years of clothes-buying, using thrifting to source the highest quality pieces I could reasonably get my hands on. And many of the items currently in my closet are pretty high quality indeed. Lately, though, I’ve been revisiting the whole idea and pondering how, in many ways, it boils down to a striving for perfection. To wanting to make the best and most optimal choices. This is not necessarily a bad thing (though some people have suggested that, on the whole, ‘maximizers’ tend to be less content than ‘satisficers’, but that’s another blog post). I am all about maximizing the value of my money; after all, finding the best quality stuff for the (relatively) lowest price possible is my raison d’etre as a thrifter. Just kidding. [But not really.]

On the other hand, value doesn’t only (or always) come from quality. Utility and joy also represent and give value, and they do so independently of quality. Let’s dig into that a bit further. In many cases, it’s probably fair to say that, for example, utility + quality = great value. Sometimes, though, the contribution made by quality to that equation is less significant than might appear at first. Sometimes, the bulk of an item’s value (to the individual person) derives from its utility, and the quality is just a cherry on top. And the same goes for joy + quality, too. In those cases, paying extra for quality – whether in terms of a cost premium or in time spent looking for the “perfect” item – isn’t really worth the sauce.

Let’s take the example of my H&M cardigan.

When I thrifted my first version, in black, at the beginning of the year, I didn’t think it was an especially exciting purchase. I bought it not because the quality was amazing – it’s OK, but more on that in a moment – but because it fit specific criteria that I had for the kind of cardigan that was missing from my closet at that time. It’s chunky and a little boxy but not too bulky. It’s cropped at the perfect length for me, which is important because I’m particular about proportions in my outfits; I had been struggling to find a cardigan that was the length I needed for my preferred aesthetic. It’s very plain and unfussy, which makes it a good “unobtrusive” piece to add to a variety of different outfits – aka a basic staple. And guess what? Over the course of the year, I found myself reaching for this cardigan constantly. Like, nearly every week … which, for someone with as big a closet as I have, is saying a lot.

And you know what else started happening? I found myself thinking, ‘gosh, it would be so handy to have this in cream or beige.’ Because sometimes I’d want the exact same style/functionality but in a different, lighter neutral to go with a particular outfit. I ended up finding a near-identical version (also H&M) in blush pink at the thrifts, which helped fill the whole to some extent. Still, though, I continued to “miss” a cream version in my closet.

Well, you know what happened next.

And as much as it pained me to pay $30 for a secondhand H&M cardigan, I did it and I have no regrets. I’ve already worn it a handful of times and I’m sure that will continue.

So, what about the quality?

We’ve talked about this before, but quality in fast fashion (which now describes the vast majority of the fashion industry, not just Shein, Zara, and H&M) is very hit and miss. Now and then, there are pieces that are better quality than the usual norm. Not amazing, but good enough. What do I mean by that? I mean good enough to do the job they need to do, for a good enough amount of time. My H&M cardigan is a cotton blend (mixed with acrylic) but has a handfeel that I like – it feels like decent cotton, isn’t scratchy, isn’t too thin, etc. I enjoy how it feels on my body when I wear it. It can be machine washed, which is great. I don’t throw mine in the dryer, which should extend its longevity. I see no reason why this cardigan won’t last me for years and years. It’s good enough.

Now, I could have spent more time (and probably more money) trying to find a “nicer” version of this cardigan – maybe one that’s 100% cotton and a better brand. But the value I would get from the increase in material quality would be relatively minimal in this situation. Construction-wise, given the nature of the garment, I’m not sure there is a ton of room for meaningful improvement in quality there either; certainly not enough to materially improve its wearability to me.

A last word on joy: while this cardigan doesn’t exactly spark joy in and of itself, the outfits I am able to make with it do. So, indirectly, I guess it does bring me joy to have it in my closet 🙂

Perfect.

Kinda hard to believe it’s November but also, thank God. I really, really could use a break, and I’m planning to take a couple weeks off work around the holidays, which can’t come soon enough. I will not bore you with the details, but I had another major anxiety spiral this week (what’s new, lol!) in regards to the process/logistics of self-publishing, and that was a real downer. I keep telling myself that doing hard things is a sign of growth in progress … but, honestly, it would be nice to do a little less growing and a bit more coasting this time of year. I’m exhausted!

This week, I channeled my spiritual malaise into splurging on some new books. I say “splurged” because they were both $30+ (for paperbacks). To be fair, though, one is literally 1,000 pages long (and the other is almost 500). I know what I’ll be reading for the rest of the year. One is Blinding by Mircea Cartarescu – whose Solenoid is one of my fave books of the past decade – and the other is Schattenfroh by Michael Lenz. Both, coincidentally, are translations (one from Romanian, one from German) and literary fiction. I got them as fuel for my writer’s brain. Having started Blinding, I can confirm that I made the right decision; the prose is stunning (Sean Cotter’s translation is brilliant) and the narration is lighting up my brain like an acid trip. [Full disclosure: I have never taken drugs of any sort, so I’m just guessing here, hah!] There is no plot, really; just gorgeous language and one devastating idea/insight/image after another.

I am currently angry at Value Village for making their latest 30% off coupon valid only Wed-Fri this week. It’s bullsh*t. In the past, these coupons – which get sent rarely, because thrift grift always be grifting – used to be good till Sunday, allowing me to shop on the weekends when I can go in the morning and enjoy a quiet(er) store. I guess I’m gonna pass this time. Frankly, in recent months, thrifting has taken a real nosedive. Part of it is my own lack of interest, as I’ve been busy with writing and other things, but part of it is the continuing decline in the quality of stuff at the thrifts, combined with increasing prices. I know I sound like a broken record now, but … ughh. I miss the old days!

This weekend, I’m going to a friend’s 50^th birthday party and the theme is the 90s, which is very exciting. (She is also having it in the afternoon/early evening which is extremely appreciated because, let’s face it, staying up past 9 PM is a real struggle for some of us these days.) I haven’t figured out what I’m going to wear yet, which is stressing me out a little bit. I think I’m struggling to decide because I wear 90s style so often these days that I’ve become oblivious to it. It’s, like, what even is a quintessential 90s outfit versus, you know, what I wear every day? Anyway, I’m thinking that I’ll go with grunge – maybe a short plaid skirt and Docs and a graphic tee – but we’ll see.

Have a great weekend!

My Instagram algorithm has been getting funky lately, shifting on a seemingly daily – sometimes hourly – basis. Part of it, I think, is due to the fact that I’ve been spending more time than usual on the app, mindlessly scrolling while I walk on my treadmill and/or decompressing in the evenings before bed. [I know, I know, it’s a terrible habit. The thing is, after spending a whole day engaged in higher-level cognitive activity, either at work or writing, I need a mindless diversion to give my brain a rest.] Naturally, the algorithm has caught on to my new habit, and is now working very hard to keep me glued to my screen at all times. Which means offering up a variety of rabbit holes for me to explore. For a while, it was clips of old Friends episodes and video diaries of British people talking about their spending habits, then it changed to highlights from Modern Family (a show, coincidentally, I’d never watched before), talking heads from people showing off their vintage jewelry, and snippets of podcasts predicting the next financial Doomsday.

Listen, you watch one 30-second Reel, and the next thing you know, the algorithm is serving you several dozens more of the same flavour.

Anyway, I don’t generally mind this too much because I’ve figured out how to train the algorithm to switch topics if I don’t like what I’m seeing, and because every now and then, it does throw new and interesting (to me) topics into the mix. I’ve started taking notes of some of the things I’m watching because … well, sometimes I feel like responding to a particular idea or opinion, but I am not someone who likes to wade into the comment section of popular content creators. My default assumption is that, regardless of the creator’s own ideological bent, their public comment section is going to be a cesspit and I’d rather pour bleach into my eyes than argue with strangers on the internet. But you know what? I can give my opinions an airing here. One, because this corner of the internet attracts very little foot traffic and, two, because I have faith in this (small) community’s ability to engage in nuanced discussion.

Holy long preamble, Batman!

Today’s post was inspired by a couple of Reels I watched almost back to back (because that’s how the algorithm works, duh). One of them was a snippet of an interview with (I think) Elizabeth Gilbert. Listen, I know she’s problematic (I definitely rubber-necked the internet furore over her latest book, sorrynotsorry) but what she was saying in this clip caught my attention – in a thought-provoking way. The second Reel was a talking head from a new-to-me content creator, Tiffany J. Marie. Both were addressing the monetization of passion/creativity, coming at it from slightly different angles. This is a topic I, myself, have thought about a lot over the years, and I found that the ways in which it was framed in these videos facilitated that ongoing internal reflection/discussion. And I decided to bring some of that reflection here.

What Gilbert said, and I’m paraphrasing here, was something to the effect of: it’s my job to support my creativity, not the other way around. To put it in corporate speak: one’s creativity should be a cost center, not a profit center. One should work to make money to pour in one’s creative pursuits, not rely on their creative pursuits to generate money to support their lifestyle.

The other creator began the video talking about how it is possible to do everything. Now, if you read my last post, you might assume that I’d be inclined to disagree with this statement – and you would be correct. Naturally, I was intrigued and kept watching. And the creator went on to discuss Sylvia Plath’s metaphor of the fig tree from The Bell Jar. The figs on the many branches of the fig tree represent different future possibilities. In the story, the narrator feels unable to choose any one fig, fearing that would mean losing all the others. She picks none, and the figs rot and fall to the ground. In the video, the creator said that, if those figs represent passions or creative pursuits, it would be possible to pick several figs at once and enjoy them all. The key? Not monetizing those figs.

Let me explain.

Basically, it comes down to this: to monetize one of our passions (aka a fig), we have to devote an extraordinary amount of time and effort (and money) to it. Don’t believe anyone who tells you that you can half-ass something and make lots of money from it. They’re either lying about how much work they’ve put into it, or about how much money they’re making from it. If you’re devoting all your time and effort to one passion, trying to make it pay off – then no, you won’t get to try or enjoy others. On the other hand, if your end goal isn’t to make money off your passion, then you can ‘dabble’ and sample any number of different ones.

OK, so here we have two different takes on the issue of monetization of creativity. And when I say “different”, I don’t mean that they’re necessarily incompatible, only that they look at the issue from different angles. Or, rather, they offer two different reasons in favour of the non-monetization of creative pursuits. And I happen to agree with both.

Making money from creative work is, unfortunately, really really difficult in our capitalist system. Creativity is severely undervalued and underpaid. [Coincidentally, the algorithm also showed me a clip from an interview with Brett Easton Ellis, where he said that his best advice to aspiring writers was to marry rich.] To make a good income in any creative field, you probably have to be in the top 1% of creators in that field. [In the same video referenced above, Gilbert talked about how she didn’t quit her day job until after Eat, Pray, Love came out. And, whatever we think about that book, it was a major bestseller – the kind that a majority of writers never get.] Pursuing a creative endeavour with the expectation that it will support a comfortable lifestyle means placing an extraordinary amount of pressure on one’s creativity. And I can tell you, firsthand, that sort of pressure is not very conducive to creative expression. It can lead to burnout, not to mention disappointment.

And it does mean having to give up a lot of other things, including other passions.

I know that from personal experience too. Forget monetizing; just writing a book in the first place required me to sacrifice other hobbies. Writing several, writing constantly – which is what you have to do to become a better writer – required even greater sacrifices. And, again, that’s without the extra pressure of trying to write profitable books (which is a whole other ballgame, trust.)

But none of this is to say that you shouldn’t pursue your creative passions – or pursue one to the exclusion of others. I really like the idea of making my creative passion (writing) something in which I invest my resources, without expectation of a return beyond the enjoyment of the process itself. It feels incredibly liberating. It leaves me free to explore whatever I like, however I like. It also leaves me free to decide, at any point, that I want to pause and go and try something different, without feeling handcuffed by the need to generate income to live on. It goes without saying that there is an enormous amount of privilege in being able to invest time and money into an endeavour that doesn’t make any money. Which brings me to another reflection.

I have been a creative person (and a writer) my whole life, but it wasn’t until I was in my 40s that I was able to treat my creativity like a cost center and devote significant time and energy to it. When I was younger, that simply wasn’t on the cards, for several reasons including the fact that my time and financial resources were required in other parts of my life. Actually, what happened was that I was shoring up resources, building up a “bank” which, later, I was able to start drawing down to support my creative pursuits. I’m not saying that’s the best or only way to do that; some people may be able to actively invest in their creative pursuits from the very beginning of their working lives. More power to them! But if, like me, you find that juggling act difficult or impossible in your 20s and 30s, don’t worry! It’s never too late to start. Some figs never rot. Creativity doesn’t expire. In fact, it only gets better, richer with age. Just as you can keep adding to your bank of resources, you will keep adding to your bank of experiences. And, when you’re ready, those will be available for you to invest too.