Yellow By Any Other Name

I have the hardest time describing the colour of this Aritzia sweater, or capturing its true shade in photos. It’s not quite mustard, not quite burnt orange. It has brown and greenish undertones to it. The product description was “tamarind”, which may or may not speak to you. Since I don’t cook adventurously, and certainly not with tamarind, it only conjures up a vague idea of a colour.

Regardless, it’s lovely. And it’s almost a perfect match for the background colour in the skirt print (except the latter is a bit more golden and less green-brown) which is why this outfit practically jumped out of my closet begging to be worn. I happily obliged. The blue shoes were a nice finishing touch and a bit of a call back to Adina of Years Past.

Notes: Suno skirt (thrifted, $9); Aritzia sweater (retail, $140); J. Crew shoes (thrifted, $15).

Cozy Chic

This outfit is probably not everyone’s cup of tea but I really enjoyed it. It’s, somehow, peaceful. I guess I find taupe a very soothing colour, hah! Conventional wisdom suggests that long layers should be paired with shorter ones, but I went the opposite way – long over long over longer still. The result might not be conventionally *flattering* (no waist definition, gasp!) but I like the proportions just fine and, frankly, I don’t care about presenting my body in that way. Or, at least, I like having the option to forego that objective when the mood strikes.

Notes: by Malene Birger tunic (thrifted, $9); Ovate dress (thrifted, $8.50); Elizabeth & James vest (thrifted, $18); Poppy Barley shoes (thrifted, $25).

Crayola Chic

This Gap sweater continues to be a wardrobe MVP, which goes to show that you can’t wholly write off brands even if they’re not your usual speed. I love the bold, graphic design – almost minimalist in a way, despite all the colours. I paired it here with a new-to-me Okakie dress in a vibrant blue. Okakie is sold at Workhall, an Edmonton-based design boutique; think a mix of Aritzia and Oak & Fort vibes. This dress is a lot more body-con than I normally prefer, but I decided to go for it anyway. Worst case scenario, I’ll resell it. So far, so good.

With the temps dropping ever lower, it’s time to bring out the boots again and I couldn’t be happier. This Tory Burch pair is one of my faves, although the fact it’s mostly suede makes it suitable only for early fall. Not to worry though, I have approximately a bazillion more black ankle boots to see me through the season … and I’m sure I will talk myself into a few new pairs at the thrifts this year.

Notes: Okakie dress (thrifted, $8.50); Gap sweater (thrifted, $5); Tory Burch shoes (thrifted, $20); MbMJ bag (thrifted, $20).

Sherry of Save Spend Splurge posted this infographic on her Insta Stories recently along with her comments (which you can now read in blog post form) and it spurred me to write out my own thoughts. It’s a timely discussion because I’ve been seeing a lot of commentary on reddit/FFA about the intersection of ethical fashion and classism, which I think is pertinent to the sentiment behind this image.

I will start by stating the obvious: yes, your worth as a person is not determined by what you wear. 100%, no questions, no exceptions. And yes, you should not feel obliged to go into debt in order to finance an expensive wardrobe, even for reasons like sustainability.

Sidenote: I have thought about this a lot, and on reflection, I don’t believe it’s fair to put the whole (or most of the) onus of changing unsustainable industry practices on consumers – especially those who, due to limited resources, don’t have any real bargaining power. Industry players have no incentive to change business models that are currently making them money, so the big push has to come from government regulations. So, in a sense, the power rests with the public. The voting public, that is. Don’t fall for the “vote with your dollar” BS. Vote with your actual vote.

Anyway. Back to the topic at hand. While I agree with parts of the message of the infographic, there are others parts which I don’t think are as black and white as presented.

“[N]o amount of dressing up can change the person you are on the inside.” Um, yes and no. Some of this goes back to what I have said before. People relate to clothing in fundamentally different ways. For some, clothing is solely or primarily utilitarian. If it covers the legs, as the infographic says, it’s good enough. For others, clothing is both functional and fun; not all jeans are made equal because some of them have cool embroidery on them (or rips, or sequins, or whatever) and others don’t. And, lastly, for some people, clothing is a form of self-expression which they use to communicate with the world around them. No points for guessing into which category I fall.

For me, to say that there is no relation between the clothing I wear and who I am inside is a gross simplification bordering on untruth. There is a fluid relationship between who I am and what I wear; the influence goes both ways.

It’s important to note that the clothes to which I am drawn are not exclusively expensive. My preferred aesthetic is, generally speaking, a somewhat niche one that is more frequently associated with certain (higher end, hence expensive) brands. There are always exceptions; Zara, for one, caters to a large variety of aesthetics at a lower price point. (Basically, anything popular on the runways, Zara has got you covered.)

The discussion of Cost versus Value is an interesting one. Cost is one indicator of value, but not a reliable one when it comes to fashion. The infographic is correct in suggesting that a $35 pair of jeans may very well be the same, quality-wise, as a $300 pair. This is not true of every $35 pair, nor of every $300 pair. This is where consumers face treacherous waters. You cannot make assumptions based on things like brand name and retail cost. Even fast fashion retailers like Old Navy or H&M make certain pieces that are of comparable quality with things you’d find at Nordstrom – even if, on the whole, the quality across their entire store might be a tad lower. As a consumer, you need to learn to trust your own knowledge of quality, independent of signals like price or brand. Learning to spot quality takes time, because it’s not a skill most of us acquire growing up nowadays. I never learned to sew or make my own clothes, so it took me years to learn what details indicate quality workmanship; to learn how to spot different fabrics and know their relative merits.

Now, quality is objective but value has a subjective component too. Assume you have a choice between 2 pairs of jeans, one being objectively better quality – over an equal amount of wear, one will last you twice as long as the other. Is it worth paying double for the better quality?

Maybe.

How often are you going to wear those jeans? If you’re a person who lives in jeans, buying a version that will last you a lot longer is probably a good idea. But what if, like me, you wear jeans once in a blue moon? In truth, I probably will never truly wear out any pair of jeans; I would either change sizes or the jeans would go out of fashion first. Is it worthwhile for me to pay for the more expensive jeans? Not on the basis of quality alone – though perhaps yes on aesthetic grounds (see above, although jeans are a bad example because styles don’t vary as much, and most retailers offer a wide range).

Jeans are also a bad example because quality doesn’t affect their functionality that much, and prices fluctuate wildly without direct correlation to quality. Shoes are a much better example; or coats. Up to a certain point, quality and prices of shoes have a direct correlation. And, again with some exceptions, a well-made shoe will be better for your foot than a cheaply made one. (Necessary caveat: not all shoes work for all feet. I am partial to certain brands because I find their designs, including things like heel placement, works best for my feet.) That being said, I don’t believe that a $1,000 pair of shoes is better quality than a $300 one; the difference in cost is marketing. But there is definitely a difference between a $300 pair of shoes and a $30 one. Unless we’re talking about flip flops.

The last thing I want to mention is my obligatory plug for secondhand shopping. Even if you live in an area without good thrifting or consignment options, there are now many online resources (especially in North America) where you can source $300 jeans for $35. I believe that the future of “sustainable fashion” is a kind of circular economy – think services like “Rent the Runway” except local and more inclusive. City-wide clothing swaps and secondhand markets are popping up with increasing frequency in my part of the world, and I hope it’s a trend that will continue to grow.

On a recent AMA post on Instagram, someone asked me about my current closet statistics, which is a topic I haven’t written about in a while. Assuming some level of interest, I went ahead and wrote this post so … here’s hoping you keep reading. Let’s not let all this sweet Google Docs data go to waste!

Yes, friends, that’s what it has come to; I got too lazy to update the Stylebook app, so I created an Excel spreadsheet for my wardrobe inventory. Not quite as fancy, but it does the trick. I record the item description, year of purchase, cost, retail value, and number of wears (for clothing only). The latter is an approximation only, because I frequently forget to update it. I keep a separate spreadsheet where I try to track the history of items (where they go after I remove them from my closet, why I’m letting them go, etc.) but, again, I have not always been consistent about updating it.

Ok, let’s talk numbers.

Tops: I currently have 40 tops. The average cost is $13/item.

Sweaters & other knits: There are 42 items in this category, which includes cardigans and vests. The average cost is $15/item.

Blazers: I have 35 blazers, down from a, um, much higher number. I can’t help it, I am a blazer hoarder. The average cost is $19/item.

Pants: I have 24 pants, including denim. I used to own more, and actually should probably pare down further. After being diagnosed with IBS, I wear pants much less often. I find them generally too uncomfortable for long stretches of time, especially anything tight/structured like denim. Average cost in this category is $14/item.

Skirts: I have 27 skirts and the number is only going up. I have rediscovered a love of skirts in the past year, although I now gravitate towards midi and maxi silhouettes, not pencil skirts. I find skirts much more comfortable (they don’t constrict my lower torso like pants). Average cost is $17/item.

Dresses (everyday): There are 42 dresses and counting. I love them. I think I own a dozen black ones at this point, which is ridiculous … but also totally necessary. I’m obsessed with interesting silhouettes over prints or colours, so it makes sense – or so I tell myself. Average cost is $45/item, but that is skewed due to 2 specific dresses. If those are removed from the equation, the average cost would be around $20.

Special occasion dresses: I have 11, which is probably too many given the lack of cocktail parties, weddings, and other galas in my life. But I can’t resist a pretty, thrifted frock. Average cost is $22/item.

Coats and outerwear: There are 22 items in this category, with an average cost of $47/item.

Shoes: I have 56 pairs of shoes, including summer & winter stuff. I really need to pare down because I have a bunch of fancy shoes (heels, mostly) that I don’t wear but can’t bear to let go. Oh well. Average cost is $32/item. It’s on the higher end because I still buy a fair amount of shoes at retail (unlike my clothes); probably a third or so.

Bags: I have 32 bags, which are largely a legacy of my “bag lady” past. I rarely buy bags now, and they’re usually simple totes or cross-bodies, nothing fancy. Average cost is $141/item, which sounds high but consider that this includes a Chanel bag, a couple of LVs, and the like. I could probably make a decent amount of cash if I re-sold the designer bags that I don’t use, but I prefer to keep them around for my daughter.

Because the majority of my clothing (upwards of 90%) is now secondhand, my out of pocket purchase costs have been hovering around the 10% of retail value for the last couple of years. That’s reflected in the average price of my items, as summarized above. I did the math on the (estimated) retail cost of my wardrobe recently and was staggered to realize it would be well over 6 figures. I like clothes but, like, not that much. That’s why I thrift, friends. Well, that and the fact I want to support a circular economy when it comes to clothes.

I have not included lounge clothes in my calculations above because I’m a slob at home; I rotate the same 2 t-shirts and 3 pairs of lounge pants (my favourite cost $1!) all the time. I have also not included gym wear because, well, I haven’t been to the gym since 2013. As for, ahem, unmentionables – they shall remain unmentioned. (Although I will say that I am partial to Natori bras, Aerie cotton briefs, and CK nylons, all of which I buy new.)

Overall, my clothes spending and wardrobe stats numbers have remained fairly consistent over the past couple of years since I’ve devoted myself almost exclusively to thrifting. I have a “happy zone” for my wardrobe contents, which I tend to judge by the number of empty hangers available; running short on hangers is my cue to edit things down. Too many clothes, and I start feeling overwhelmed – hard to believe, I know. But I also like having lots of options and experimenting with new styles and pieces all the time, so I have come to accept that regular turnover is a feature of my closet, not a bug. This is where the circular economy thing comes in handy; I always sell, donate or swap things I no longer want to keep around, as they usually have lots of life left in them.

If you have questions about my wardrobe tracking system or statistics, or want to share yours, the comment section is all yours!