I have a thrifting problem. Not in the sense that I buy too many clothes. I buy the wrong clothes every single time.
Every day when I open my closet doors, I reach for a pair of either 1) grey tapered joggers or 2) black yoga leggings, then complete the look with either 1) my red crewneck sweater or 2) my grey crewneck sweater with the words “NO BAD VIBES” written across the chest. I love the idea of uniform dressing but I’m not sure I love the idea of wearing this particular uniform, a look I’ve been sporting for let me think… Almost seven years. Is it my stay-at-home mom look? My writer look? My I’ve given up look?
It’s definitely the comfiest look, perfect for my afternoon bloat, ovulation-induced abdomen inflammation, and all the other cramps and extra intestinal air that gets stuck in my system for a number of reasons. I never feel restricted. It’s the perfect outfit for bending down and removing the dust bunnies stuck underneath the dining room chairs. It’s the perfect outfit for cutting onions, because I can easily dry my tears (and snot, sorry) on my sleeve and not worry about ruining a nice blouse.
I live with a man who wears shirts every day. He irons them with the precision of a plastic surgeon. He says ironing is his meditation. On weekend mornings he is fully dressed by 9 AM. I, on the other hand, have been known to wear the same pjs for 48 hours straight.
One morning my husband woke up feeling distraught. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he’d had a nightmare. “We were late for a wedding because I couldn’t find little packs of tissues for my suit pocket.” Then I shared my nightmare: my naked body was covered in lesions… I had come down with a bad case of leprosy. And that my friends tells you exactly what you need to know about our respective personalities. He dreams of wearing tuxedos and I need intensive hypnosis or something.
I would love to put a look together in an effortless and joyful way (no ironing please!!). I’m in a style rut (I’ve written about this before). This started years before the pandemic, when I left a toxic copywriting job to care for my toddler and my declining mental and physical health. Once in a while I’ll decide that I’ve had enough and I’ll spend the afternoon in thrift shops searching for my new style.
You never know what you’re going to come across when thrifting, which is why it’s difficult to plan your shopping spree in advance. The thrift finds you, and it’s up to you to decide if the item is worth your five bucks. Or five pounds now that I live in London.
Do I come across nice blouses or t-shirts while thrifting? No. Do I come across sensible trousers or jeans that fit my Hobbit legs? Never. Do you know what I come across? Gowns. Pencil skirts. Blazers a CEO would wear. Tweed jackets à la Chanel that have no business being paired with sweatpants. High heeled patent leather ankle boots with bejewelled golden insects. Sure, I have an oversized denim jacket like every other person who has set foot in a thrift shop. My other finds? Useless.
I don’t need a floor-length deep blue velvet evening dress. But somehow I thought it would be a good idea to buy one even though I never leave my flat past 6 PM. You never know when you’ll be invited to the opera! I’ve bought too many pencil skirts and tight-fitting blazers for reasons I still don’t understand. In case I want to climb the corporate ladder? Of what? School runs? Essay writing? Tofu scramble making?
Maybe the Thrift Gods (the entities that put second-hand items in your path) send me those clothes because I’m sending them mixed signals. It’s like “manifestation.” You must send the “Universe” clear intentions so it can help you achieve et receive whatever it is you’re “calling in.” My current lifestyle doesn’t match up with what my subconscious thinks I should do. Deep down I wonder if I should return to a traditional office job and judge myself for not being a corporate boss babe with a pension plan. I think this is why I still buy pencil skirts. Being a stay-at-home parent was never part of my plan but it is absolutely what I want and what I need. I lived that other life and it made me sick. I just forget sometimes.
Once I’ve fully accepted that, the Thrift Gods might come through. Until then, you can find me in my usual uniform.
This comes from a place of love but honey... nothing, and I mean NOTHING, not even a french tuck, can elevate an outfit that includes socks in Birkenstocks.
C'est trop drôle comme nos idées se croisent souvent chère Michelle ! Bonjour !
J'ai bien aimé lire "The Problem With Thrifting" et justement, quelques jours plus tôt, je pensais aux habitudes vestimentaires d'une ancienne voisine, Mrs. Bethune, dans notre petite ville du nord de l'Ontario, quand j'étais adolescente et jeune adulte.
Mrs. Bethune était veuve et elle demeurait seule. À la suite d'une fracture de la hanche, ma mère avait proposé que quelqu'un de notre famille lui apporte son courrier tous les jours. (Le bureau de poste était même ouvert le samedi avant-midi à cette époque-là !)
Par ailleurs, Mrs. Bethune souffrait sans doute d'arthrite : elle ne pouvait plus agrafer ses robes par derrière. Je pense même que ce soit devenu compliqué pour elle de se boutonner devant. Malgré ça, en anticipant notre visite de voisins/"facteurs" presque quotidienne, elle parvenait toujours à revêtir une de ses robes et à porter du rouge à lèvres très rouge ou fuchsia qui "matchait". Ça faisait un beau contraste avec son teint laiteux et rosé et sa chevelure bouclée teinte d'un gris qui tirait sur le bleu.
Mrs. Bethune nous demandait souvent de lui aider à boutonner ou à remonter la fermeture éclair de sa robe. Ça n'a pas dû être facile pour elle puisqu'elle était très fière. Je pense même qu'elle parvenait à porter des boucles d'oreilles et des colliers.
Quoique les vêtements et ses bijoux fussent démodés, (je préfère dire "vintage"), tous les membres de ma famille remarquions ses toilettes.
J'associe donc les toilettes changeantes au quotidien et le rouge à lèvres très rouge et violacé à Mrs. Bethune. D'ailleurs, quand je tarde à m'habiller et que je déprime moi-même (est-ce que ça se dit ?!), je m'empresse de me brosser les dents et d'appliquer du rouge à lèvres. Je pense à Mrs. Bethune et ça m'encourage à continuer ma toilette. Ensuite ça va mieux. Je parle pour moi-même évidemment !
Ma tenue confortable et "présentable" préférée est celle d'une robe genre chasuble ou d'une robe patineuse, c'est-à-dire "A-line"avec un swing ou qui va en s'évasant dans le bas. Mon physique de poire se sent très à l'aise dans ce genre de tenue.
L'an passé, j'ai trouvé la plus belle robe africaine confectionnée à la main genre muumuu mais courte au Village des Valeurs, section internationale. Cette robe n'avait jamais été portée. Elle me va comme un gant ! C'est devenu ma tenue de Pâques ! Ce n'était vraiment pas planifié ou prévu. "The Thrift Gods" were with me for sure!!
Je suis certaine que les dieux de la friperie sont à l'écoute de tes besoins chère Michelle ! Comme tu le dis si bien, "Being a stay-at-home parent was never part of my plan but it is (ABSOLUTELY)** what I want and what I need.". Voilà ! Talk about self-awareness and introspection!
**Tu remarques, j'ai utilisé des lettres majuscules pour ton adverbe "absolutely". "In an absolute manner, esp completely or perfectly" (Google). Our choice of words, not only of clothes, have a lot to say about us don't they?!