In 2009 I was a burnt-out Finance professional, working in High Street Fashion Retail at the start of the longest and deepest economic downturn I had experienced in my lifetime. I felt jaded about my industry. I was lucky to work in design-led, aspirational brands that produced beautifully constructed pieces, designed to last. However I couldn’t ignore the other brands in my industry producing tonnes of cheap clothing made from non-biogradable man-made fibres that were destined for landfill. Or the change in attitude caused by clothing so cheap that a garment could be bought for a night out and then discarded. Or the plight of the people that made them, only made visible by terrible tragedies such as the garment factories that collapsed in the Rana Plaza catastrophe in Dhaka, Bangladesh in 2013. I felt uneasy about the pressure the industry placed on consumers to replace clothing every season, to discard rather than cherish, so that daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly and annual sales and margin forecasts could be met. My job and the success of my brands depended on people buying things they didn’t need, and maybe couldn’t afford. If they couldn’t buy it full price that was ok, we had already factored markdown into our buy, we would get you later. Except that this just isn’t sustainable in any sense of the word.
There is nothing wrong with wanting to look good; clothing is a way to show individuality. After years working in fashion I know the value of a well thought out accessory, and I love putting an outfit together. An outfit that makes me feel great can change how I feel about my day, I step out with a spring in my step, and I am not ashamed of that. I also appreciate the supremely comfortable clothes that seem to hug me on a cold Winter’s day, or float around my skin on hot sultry evenings. I think carefully before I let a new piece into my wardrobe; it has to work with what I already have, be beautifully made, washable and ideally made of a natural fabric. I can sew and have always repaired things rather than throw them away. I have pieces that I have bought on trips that I cannot easily buy again, so I wash them with care, iron them with respect and fix them when they start to disintegrate. I am probably one of the few people my age that knows how to darn a sock, and actually does it. It is always hard to arrive at the painful point when I have to acknowledge that the garment I love no longer makes me feel good because it is worn beyond repair. I have a deep relationship with my clothing which couldn’t be further from the ‘throw away’ culture. Recently though, this relationship has changed. I have lost a lot of weight in the 8 months since my husband died. He died in the Spring and I was vaguely aware that many of my Summer clothes were very baggy and I wasn’t looking my best, but so much was wrong at that time that it didn’t seem so important. I bought a new dress for the funeral, but other than that I soldiered on, tightening belts on skinny jeans that were now baggy round the bum, cinching in dresses at the waist, tucking tops into trousers to stop them slipping down (rather than wearing them loose, which I used to do to hide my ‘muffin top’). The clothes were the same but I looked very different. As the seasons changed, I got out the Winter clothes stored under my bed, looking forward to wearing old friends. However every time I pulled on an old favourite it felt all wrong. I was arriving at work later and later every morning; I wasn’t sleeping and I have never been a morning person, but this was now compounded by a new problem – I was trying on several outfits before I could leave the house. I had to work through the pile of Winter clothes, trying each piece on, assessing, and realising it didn’t just look slightly large, it was all wrong. I might finally find a top that sort of worked, but the coordinating skirt then fell off my hips. Then I couldn’t find anything else that went with the top, so I started again, and so on. I persevered, wearing things anyway, desperate for them to work. I had altered as many things as I could, but the weight continued to fall off, and another dress size hit the road. The problem had gone way beyond tightening my belt (which was also way beyond the smallest buckle hole). Even my underwear didn’t fit. People started to ask me if I was ill. I started to wonder if I was ill. Losing weight is so often associated with looking good, and I had been trying to lose a few pounds for years, but such a sudden loss, accentuated by my baggy wardrobe, simply made me look…well…probably how I was feeling. I was trying to fit into a new solo life, still dealing with the huge weight of probate bureaucracy, worried about my future, uncomfortable in many social settings. One more of the many secondary losses* that come with suddenly losing a life partner through death; loss of identity and sense of self. I had to take back control. I needed to feel good about myself. I started running again, to reconnect with my body. I began to trust it again; I wasn’t ill and I was still strong. A week out on a Healthy Holiday** boosted my tone and my sleep, so I started to look healthy rather than ill. Now it was time to turn the time, care and attention that I had applied to recycling my husband’s beautiful wardrobe to my own. I carefully sorted all of my clothes into categories – what could still be altered, what could be sold on Ebay, what could be given to charity shops, what was beyond repair and had to be consigned to the dustbin. A lady messaged me after buying one of my dresses on Ebay to tell me how lovely it was, and how much she enjoyed wearing it. It made me happy to think that other people might love my things as much as I had, and anything I sold gave me a fighting fund to start again. This was the first time I had bought new clothing on this scale for a long time and I needed it! It hasn’t been easy. Rather than my style evolving (or not) over time, I have had to have a total rethink. My body shape is so different that I can wear things I would never have considered before, but two decades have passed since I was last this shape. It has taken time to adjust. Now people have started telling me I look great but I am cautious. I didn’t dislike my curvier self and I was always very fit, I could always run 10k comfortably. I realised I was made to feel uneasy about my curves by other people. I could easily put the weight back on again and I need to feel OK with that. I now understand that I am still me, whatever my shape. I like looking good but I realise, more than ever now, that we should never judge anyone for their shape or appearance. It is more important to know what is happening inside. *Secondary Loss — one loss isn’t enough??!! **At the Body Retreat with the lovely Juls and Julie
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