The last time I paid full retail price for a piece of clothing was in December 2016. It was at Club Monaco, where I fell in love with a lace-collared sweater dress. I wore it half a dozen times, most recently in November 2017 at my grandmother’s funeral; I haven’t been able to bring myself to wear again since then, but it’s still hanging in my archive closet, waiting for another chance.
Why am I telling you all this?
Because I did it again. I bought a new sweater … at full retail price.
Since December 2016, the vast majority of my clothing purchases – I would estimate at least 90% – has been secondhand. I have bought some things at retail, but they have been accessories for the most part and always on sale. It has been a surprisingly easy shift in my shopping habits, thanks to the fantastic thrift and resale market in Edmonton. I rarely go to the mall, I don’t pop into outlets to browse, I don’t window shop online. [Well, sometimes I do; the Anthropologie accessories and home goods sale page is my Kryptonite.] I stopped following most popular fashion bloggers; the personal style IG accounts I do follow focus mostly on thrifting and/or sustainable fashion. Insulating myself from temptation, I rarely miss retail shopping.
Every so often, though, it still gets me.
A few weeks ago at the office, I bumped into a co-worker who was wearing the most fabulous sweater. We were headed in different directions, so I had less than 30 seconds’ glimpse of that sweater, but it was enough. I was obsessed. It looked soft, draped beautifully, and was a wonderfully rich, saturated toffee colour. My co-worker looked impossibly chic, even though the outfit itself was super simple – said sweater and a pair of black trousers.
Now, I have a lot of nice sweaters myself, and there is no shortage of high quality knits at the thrift store. That same week, I found a wonderful, 2-ply cashmere turtleneck that fits and feels like a dream, all for less than $10. But my co-worker’s sweater haunted me, and it was all because of the colour. Darker than mustard, not quite brown. Perfect for fall, and for my wardrobe colour palette. Seemingly impossible to replicate.
I tried. I looked for a similar shade in all the thrift stores on my regular rotation. No luck. I started to surreptitiously look for it online, telling myself that it was only so I could satisfy my curiosity. Still no luck.
A week later, I broke down and asked a mutual friend to get the details on The Sweater for me. It turned out to be Aritzia. In retrospect, it seemed obvious that it would be Aritzia – very much a go-to brand for professional office basics around here – so I must have been struck dumb by love or something to not have thought of it before. Anyway, the sweater was $138 plus tax … which is at least $125 more than what I typically spend on sweaters these days. It’s also about how much I spend in an average month on clothes – and believe me when I say that I buy A LOT more than one item. I had a predicament on my hands, albeit one of a very “first world problem” variety.
I had already spent my “fun money” for the month, and didn’t want to dip into our “miscellaneous spending” pool for more. I didn’t want to “borrow” against my next month’s fun money because cutting back on other (future) personal indulgences is something Present Adina doesn’t want to force Future Adina to do. My birthday was long past, and Christmas not close enough. There was only one option left: my PayPal slush fund.
I use PayPal whenever I sell clothes online, and as I haven’t been doing much eBay shopping lately, the balance has been steadily accumulating. I have been sitting on it, with a vague plan to save it for some extra special purchase. I didn’t have a specific idea about what that purchase might be, and as the amount grew, I found it increasingly hard to spend any of it because I couldn’t think of anything special enough to justify it.
Was this sweater special enough?
On one hand, not really. It’s a mall brand, and there is nothing out of the ordinary about it, quality- or style-wise. The colour might be unusual, but hardly unique.
On the other hand, it might be special. It could be the kind of piece that brings me joy every time I wear it. Lately, I have found greater joy in simple, basic pieces that look and fit just right, as compared to flashy, look-at-me pieces. That plain, black cashmere turtleneck? It’s perfect; it goes with everything and it makes me feel good every time I wear it. I might have paid less than $10 for it, but if I had to, I would pay $100. I have learned a lot about myself (and my style) over the past couple of years, and I have much greater confidence now in knowing what pieces are going to work best with my aesthetic, and how much they are worth to me.
Could I find this sweater for less – either on sale or on the resale market? Quite possibly.
In the end, though, I decided that it was worth the risk as a special piece, as well as the extra cost, for the certainty of having it right away. I even paid to have it shipped to my house (an extra $8, which is what that black turtleneck cost me, sigh) because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle – and temptation – of going to the mall.
So, was it worth it? Time will tell. I sure do hope so.
This isn’t a story with a moral, per se, but if there is a small insight to glean from it, it’s this: as much as I might try to infuse some measure of objectivity or “science” in my clothes purchasing process – with a goal to reduce waste and make optimal decisions – there is an ineradicable element of emotion at its core. And that’s OK. Clothing is one of my means of self-expression, and it’s really more of an art than a science. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
