Anthro lovers out there might recognize this skirt; actually, it used to be a dress. This one:
Moulinette Soeurs Tropica Jacquard Dress
I thrifted this dress, new with tags, towards the end of my last pregnancy (if memory serves). Basically, I loved the print and figured the size would more or less work – or be made to work – with my post-pregnancy body. Except it didn’t. At all. It was too big in the bust, and gave me the dreaded Strapless Sheath Pooch. (You know what I’m talking about, right?) Even from the best angle, it looked … not good.
I tried to sell it, but quickly realized that I would never get my money back (all $20 of it), and I couldn’t quite bear to part with it for the $5-8 I’d make through consignment. I still really loved the print. What to do? The bottom half of the dress fit nicely, so making it into a skirt seemed like a good solution. (Side note: I used to be really reluctant about drastically altering clothes until I realized that there is nothing special, necessarily, about the original design. It may or may not be the ideal design for my body or preferences. If your chances of recouping a good portion of the purchase price through resale are low, I say go ahead and alter clothes to your heart’s content.)
All in all, I think things all turned out for the better. In my line of work, one can never have too many cute pencil skirts. Can’t say the same about Strapless Sheath Pooch.
I have a lot of shoes. I know I do. So how is it exactly that, at the moment, I have no navy, nude or cognac pumps in my closet? Flats, yes. In all 3 colours. Heels, no. Which posed something of a dilemma when I had to decide what shoes to wear with this blue-navy-yellow outfit.
chair selfie (nails, OPI Parlez Vous OPI)
If the title didn’t provide the clue, it was burgundy that came to the rescue. It’s sedate enough to pass for a neutral, and it works nicely with the other colours here. Bonus: I have a lovely burgundy bag to match.
all the blurry burgundy
(P.S. I’m fighting a nasty cold, as are the kidlets and my entire extended family, so I may not be around much this week. Hope my Canadian peeps are enjoying a lovely Thanksgiving, and everyone is having a great week.)
As I mentioned before, I’ve been tracking the contents of my wardrobe for a long time; this year, I also started tracking my actual usage. In the process, I’ve accumulated a fair bit of data … all just begging to be analyzed. I hate math, but I’m an inveterate number-cruncher. Contradictions, I haz them. Anyway, I thought it might be fun to start a “wardrobe analytics” series, and play around with all that data.
First up: this summer’s most worn pieces, and some cost-per-wear lessons.
You will remember that I spent my summer at home, chasing after two kids under 3. I could describe my experience in any number of ways, but I’d be hard-pressed to call it the height of sartorial glamour. Or even the foothills of glamour. Really, I wasn’t anywhere near glamour territory. Casual, with a side of sweatpants. Keep that it mind as you feast your eyes on my most worn summer clothes.
This analysis doesn’t include the stuff I wore around the house, aka so-called lounge wear (although who are we kidding, there was no lounging involved).
Honestly, when I first drew up the list, I was disappointed. All of the pieces are so … boring. No real prints (stripes don’t count), and not much colour. When I think of what I consider “my style”, it’s all Bright and Colourful and Loud and Prints, Hurrah! Except, maybe not. I obviously rely on basic pieces in neutral colours far more than I realize. Considering that I’m (technically) an adult and not a toddler, this probably counts as a positive.
However, this made me realize that I’m really crap at guesstimating what I actually wear. For example, I could have sworn that I “lived” in my floral Anthropologie skirts this summer:
one, two, threeone, two, three, four
Not so much. I wore them a total number of 7 times, combined. You might think: so what? After all, these skirts are still in great condition, and I will get to wear them again next summer. This is where the cost-per-wear thing comes in. The tulip print skirt cost me $8. After one year (barring any additional wear this fall/winter, which is unlikely), the cost-per-wear is still a whopping $2.66. I will have to wear it for 2 more years (assuming a similar rate of wear) before the cost-per-wear will be under $1. My general goal is to have a cost-per-wear for most of my clothing – except special occasion pieces – at around $0.50. With that goal in mind, this skirt won’t “break even” for another 4 years, unless I start wearing it more often.
And consider the other skirt. It cost me $39. Not a terribly high price, right? Except that its current cost-per-wear is $9.75. Even I start it wearing it twice as often as I did this past summer, it will take another almost 4 years for the cost-per-wear to reach $1. The odds that I’ll get tired of it before then? Pretty good.
Maybe I’m just being unrealistic about what a reasonable cost-per-wear should be. But I know that when people talk about something costing “pennies” on a per-wear basis, they’re either (a) delusional, or (b) wearing the same dozen pieces all the time. If, like me, your wardrobe is considerably more extensive, then cost-per-wear is mostly irrelevant when it comes to determining what’s a reasonable price to pay for things other than the most basic of basic (i.e. black pants you wear every week). I’d caveat that statement by adding 3 exceptions: outerwear, bags, and shoes.
If you live in a climate that requires outerwear for a significant portion of the year, then paying more to get the best quality you can afford makes sense, and cost-per-wear will bear that out. Ditto if the weather or your lifestyle necessitates certain footwear investments. (In my case, that’s mostly limited to boots; I cycle between a lot of pairs of “indoor” shoes, so few of them get weekly wear.) Bags are a special category, because they tend to be the one item that gets used every day – whether you have only one bag, or 20, that still translates to a lot of wear. Here’s one example: I’ve already worn the brown MbMJ Mag bag I bought back in June 35 times; its current cost-per-wear is $3.4, and I’m still using it all the time. I’m certain that its cost-per-wear will be closer to $1, or less, before I get tired of it and sell it along.
If you’ve made it through this entire post and are still awake, first of all, congrats. And secondly, tell me: have you ever used the cost-per-wear idea to justify a purchase, and if so, have you ever calculated your actual costs-per-wear?
