Into the Cauldron

During November, I scheduled myself a week of Cauldron Time, after taking the workshop Into the Cauldron with Moss of Spiral Path. Moss's concept of Cauldron Time is about taking time to rest and look deeply inwards during the dark half of the year. For me this involved taking space away from social media and screens, reading, journaling, meditating, yoga, divination, foraging, spending time in nature, cooking nourishing meals, and taking naps.

I'm a carer and parent, so I couldn't take a week off as would have been ideal, but I did try to maintain an atmosphere of calm and restfulness, and I also thought hard before agreeing to any social plans and only accepted invitations if I really wanted to. I found all this much harder than it probably sounds! Turns out, I am not brilliant at resting.

However, once I made the effort, I found it very effective. Taking time away from screens and spending lots of time outside under the grey November skies almost made it feel as though I had slipped slightly sideways out of ordinary time and into a liminal space. Suddenly I had loads of extra time which I had previously apparently been wasting fiddling about on my tablet and achieving very little. I also hadn't realised how rushed I normally feel, hurtling at ninety miles an hour from one responsibility to the next - again, apparently pointlessly, since during Cauldron Time the housework still got done, the Spud arrived at nursery on time, and everything was accomplished which needed to be, without me turning up everywhere sweaty, out of breath and slightly miserable. It was such a relief to stop trying to push the river.

I also spent time in darkness - the Spud and I sat out one night to watch the sunset, and were delighted to discover that our garden is apparently a bat hotspot. We also went walking under the full moon one night. I realised that I habitually do everything indoors, but I will try to make the effort to wrap up warm and head outside for reading, writing and playing (drinking coffee, doing surveys and checking emails could all be done outside too).

I found myself getting creative in the kitchen - mixing Penicillin cocktails on a whim to use up the last of the 'good' whisky, collecting rosehips and making syrup. 

I blitzed through my reading pile, and delved into poetry for the first time in a long time (The Girl and the Goddess by Nikita Gill was my starting point). Another notable book I read was The Stopping Places by Damien Le Bas. I found it really interesting to have a glimpse of different cultures and different ways of seeing the world, as well as different ways of experiencing this island where I live. I've been seeing Britain very differently since I started looking more into Druidry, folklore and history and learning about what's beneath and beyond the malls, car parks and council estates, and I find it fascinating to have these small peeks into a multiplicity of ways of living and of being here. We may share the same small bit of ground but we relate to it, see it and understand it in completely different ways. 

The lack of social media was a blessing during Cauldron Time. I often feel torn, as I've made some great connections on Instagram lately and found out about some wonderful events, but I can't deny I am more content without the mental chatter and feeling of being surveilled. No amount of giveaways are worth my peace of mind, surely?

The days felt strange - my life revolves mainly around caring for others and managing the household, so it was hard to find time alone or to deeply meditate as I might have liked, but the week was full of little coincidences and synchronicities, and that feeling that I was just outside normal life, in a secret and special space. The slower pace was wonderful - I did about as much as I normally would, but without feeling frazzled or habitually tense. And I prioritised time with my son over time with other people, which felt right - an important boundary that at times I had been lax about upholding.

I found taking Cauldron Time to be valuable, profound and powerful. There were many lessons that I plan to take forward, such as not letting all my time drain into my screens, being present, slowing down, and recognising that time with the Spud or time alone is also special and important, and that it's okay to prioritise it even when that means saying no to other things. 

Afterwards I felt more nourished, more settled, less scattered. I didn't really want to come back to normal reality, and I hope to try to keep my focus on rest throughout winter. I definitely plan to take Cauldron Time again next year, and at least once more this winter, to help me continue to live with more mindfulness and intention. 

I also had a guest spot this month talking to Hazel and Jenny on The Wheel podcast for their Sustainable Yule episode - listen here.

Fifty-Three Ways to Rewild Your Mind

1. Read poetry, even if - especially if - you haven't read any for years

2. Ditch Amazon - go to your local library

3. Begin a meditation practice

4. Make a meal from local, seasonal goods

5. Cut down your social media time (I signed up for email newsletters from my favourite creatives so I don't miss the relevant stuff)

6. Have your first or last hot beverage of the day outside in the garden

7. Challenge your habitual consumption behaviours - for example, take a break from online shopping and visit local retailers instead, or try buying only second-hand for a while. Disrupt the consumption engine in your head

8. Make or mend something with your hands

9. Swim or paddle in wild water (obviously take all relevant safety precautions)

10. Spend an evening by candlelight

11. Make offerings to your ancestors

12. Consider celebrating, marking or acknowledging the solstices, equinoxes and fire festivals to create awareness of the cyclical nature of time

13. Rest

14. Tend a plant or garden

15. Forage for wild foods (this doesn't need to be more complicated than blackberries or apples)

16. Compost

17. Become aware of the phases of the moon

18. Spend time in starlight

19. Speak your truth

20. Make space in your life to appreciate art. Obviously this is very subjective, but some artists I love who to me express wild mind include Rima Staines, Iris Compiet, Jackie Morris, Hannah Willow, Brian Froud, Julia Jeffrey, Nadia Turner and Brett Manning.

21. Read widely and voraciously on anything that speaks to you

22. Again this is subjective, but some books that specifically evoke the feeling I wanted to achieve include Wild by Jay Griffiths, The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie, Rooted by Lyanda Lynn Haupt and The Way Home by Mark Boyle

23. Listen to live music

24. Dance

25. Consider your relationship to movement. What would you do if changing the appearance of your body wasn't a factor? I have a particular hatred of the sterile box that is the gym, so I admit to being biased, but I love to exercise in a way that makes me feel good, which for me includes yoga, walking, dance, the occasional run, swimming and paddleboarding when I am near the sea, and the odd game of badminton.

26. Check out the ingredients in your cosmetics. Consider a switch to cruelty free products. Better yet, natural, organic and cruelty free. Or even consider making your own - books like Wild Beauty by Jana Blankenship and Freedom Face by Lucy AitkenRead have an abundance of recipes

27. Buy only what you need

28. Learn the names of the animals, plants and birds in your immediate environment

29. Wander

30. If you have the opportunity, listen to stories being told out loud - this can be magical

31. Look at the world around you with fresh eyes. Slightly cheesily, I think of being a tourist everywhere I go, and look for historical buildings, unusual details, things that tell a story about the place. I have a particular fondness for old pubs, which are often the longest-lived buildings in an area and packed to the beams with ghost stories, and if this also includes sampling a local ale or cider, well, so be it. Often we go about with half our brain in 'the great digital nowhere', and this can be a way to bring ourselves back to physical reality

32. See what's on near you. Whilst I find that minimising my social media use as much as possible is the best thing for me, I can't deny it's really useful for finding out about workshops, markets, mending cafes, live music, Pagan gatherings, community gardens and all kinds of other interesting events that help me feel more rooted in and connected to my local area

33. One concept of Stoic philosophy that intrigues me is of not being addicted to anything. I can easily fall into habitual ruts (this whole blog started because of my shopping addiction), so I find it useful to regularly challenge those habits and make sure I am in control of them and not the other way round. Phone addiction is probably one of the most obvious, particularly for those of us who are rewilding, but this year I have gone without caffeine just to make sure that I could! Maybe consider having a look at your dependencies and shaking things up a little

34. I was surprised this year to discover how much I am held back by negative body image. I have found books like Beyond Beautiful, The Beauty Myth, Just Eat It and You Are Not A Before Picture really helpful in challenging this

35. Watch a sunrise or sunset

36. Let your bare feet touch the earth

37. Feel the sun, rain or wind on your bare skin

38. Let yourself change with the seasons. Be aware of yourself and your needs. In winter, when nature is sleeping and dormant, you may find that you, too, need to rest, and go within. Don't fight this urge. Capitalism and ideas about productivity and linear progress have made this very difficult, but do what you can. (This is a work in progress for me. I recently encountered ideas about living more cyclically through the work of Moss at Walk the Spiral Path, and I was surprised by how much of an emotional reaction I had to the concept)

39. Consider learning some of the skills your ancestors would have had - weaving, spinning, knitting, pottery, playing an instrument, for example. Ancestral crafts connect us to our history and our bodies as well as being beneficial to our mental health

40. Sketching, writing/journaling or painting are all ways to unwind without resorting to the endless scroll

41. Plant lore and herbalism teach us more ways to connect to the world around us. Although there is a vast amount of knowledge available here, don't be intimidated - you don't need to know everything about everything to brew a simple herbal tea (my simplest is this: I chuck a handful of lemon balm leaves into a mug, pour on hot water, and drink) or make an incense blend. 

42. Spend time with your friends and family (whatever family means to you). Sharing food by firelight is often wonderful

43. Stop mowing your lawn

44. Don't be afraid of the weather - just get a good coat

45. Go off-grid for a little while

46. Turn off phone notifications for email

47. If you can, spend a night outdoors

48. When you're outside, check in with all your senses (maybe not taste? But also maybe yes?)

49. Focus more on what makes you feel grounded, content, joyful, free or simply grateful. Living by your true priorities and values, not those of the dominant culture, is not easy, but it is importantvalues

50. Spend time alone

51. Challenge your comfort zone. So much of our money, time and energy is poured into our comfort and convenience. We are, in a sense, domesticated. How will we cope with the societal changes ahead in this era of climate change? (Many more of us in the UK will be experiencing cold and darkness this winter. Having these changes foisted upon us as the result of inept governing is, of course, terrible.) Finding ways to increase our strength and resilience could turn out to be beneficial in the long run. Common suggestions include cold water exposure, spending time in wild places or without electric light, breathwork practices such as the Wim Hof method, building relationships and communities, and learning how to grow, preserve and forage for food

52. Find a sit-spot that you can visit at least once a week

53. Care for and nourish your body, whatever that looks like for you

The 'Mrs Baggins' Style Challenge

As you'll know from last week's post, I was beginning to think of style as a kind of scam to encourage us to feel dissatisfied with our selves and our clothes. You might think that this feeling would lead to a sense of liberation, but instead I found myself a little despondent: "You mean, this is it? Get used to feeling slightly uncomfortable in my skin, all the time, forever? I never get to changing-room-movie-montage my way out of this?" 

Then, in a rather timely manner I received a newsletter from Jill Chivers at Shop Your Wardrobe which contained a link to this post, which contains references to lots of studies about how the way we dress can affect our mood, confidence and self-image. I couldn't help but think back to how I'd felt all day in my jeans, which were just slightly too short to look right with my shoes. I'd wanted to work on accepting myself, but was I just stifling myself instead? Why didn't I just change the damn shoes?

This has been a year of many challenges, from several months of no-buy to a big rewilding plan, walking across hot coals and wearing everything in my 100+ item wardrobe. So I started to think, perhaps it was time to set myself some more.

I recently came across a piece of wisdom that suggests we give ourselves three years to work towards a chosen goal. At the end of that time, we have either succeeded, made progress, or perhaps learned that it's time to peacefully let go. But I've been working on this no-buy for three years, and to be honest I didn't fancy spending another three obsessing over the contents of my wardrobe.

So I decided, okay. Three months. For three months, I would lean into this whole style thing. I would do my best to learn whatever lessons it had to teach. I would shop my wardrobe. I would not leave the house in an outfit I did not like. I would take copious notes on how I felt and how it affected me. However, I would not shop. I would either make outfits with my own clothes or borrow from friends. Adding new clothes seemed like a thing that would only compound my state of identity crisis and confusion. 

At first I thought I should get some style guides and try to enact their advice, perhaps challenge myself with a different book for each month, but then I wondered if maybe I was looking at the whole thing wrong. The point wasn't to become stylish, it was to find my style. I feel fairly certain that my style is not to be found in someone else's list of essential basics or defined by which fruit or vegetable I most resemble. So I decided to start really, really simple, by just putting together outfits that I actually like when I get dressed in the mornings.

I know, right, it's hardly revolutionary. Usually when we are encouraged to discover our style, the suggestion is that style is 'out there somewhere', possibly still hanging on the rail in H&M, waiting for us to go and catch it in our fashion-y net. This is the kind of talk that makes me wary, makes me start thinking fashion is a con game. Comparatively, consider the wisdom of Leena Norms: 

 "When it comes to showing who you are through your clothes, I think that isn't a misguided idea, but if clothes are supposed to speak about who we are, surely where they came from is as important as, like... what colour they are. How frequently I buy them is as important as how 'me' they are, whatever that means. I also think that re-wearing clothes makes them more you. Like, you really settle in to your style when you re-wear stuff you really, really love, and people start knowing you for that. So rather than always having to reinvent the wheel and walk into New Look and be like 'Right, I've got to find an item that's 'me',' the secret might actually be already be at home in your wardrobe into looking like yourself."

I'd already learned from wearing my wardrobe that I have those things because I like them. So it's kind of ironic that I end up feeling bad when I wear them. Especially when I quite possibly have the power to... not.

Do you know what made me think twice about buying a bunch of style guides to slavishly follow their advice? (I recently flicked through one that suggested leather leggings are a must-have wardrobe staple... all I will say is, to each their own, but I cannot express how much I do not wish to wear a pair of leather leggings in this lifetime.) I was scrolling on Pinterest, because although I know it's a total waste of time it sometimes feels like I'm doing something productive and if I can just find the right image it will magically solve all my fashion conundrums forever, and I found myself looking at a picture of Emma Orbach.

I deeply admire Emma Orbach. She lives in a self-built hobbit house on the slopes of a mountain in Pembrokeshire, off the grid, where she lives off the land, tends horses and plays the harp. And has done, without running water or electricity, for over twenty years.

In this photograph, Emma Orbach was wearing a crystal pendant necklace and a stripy v-neck jumper. And I thought, for heaven's sake, this woman lives in a mud hut in the middle of nowhere, presumably without a mirror, milking goats and communing with her spirit guides, she obviously knows there are WAY more important things than her appearance, and she can still be bothered to put on a nice necklace that she likes. So why the hell can't I?

I wanted to wear my equivalent of Emma Orbach's necklace. Nice things, that I like, in a combination that I enjoy. 

So I'm calling it The Mrs Baggins Style Challenge. I give myself three months to see if a little bit of style really can change my life, or even just my mood. I'll keep you posted.

This week, this blog is also two years old! Does it feel like two years to you?!

I Wore Every Single Item In My Wardrobe

In the manner of quintessential mad scientists throughout time, I decided to run an experiment on myself (and my clothes) to see if I could settle the ongoing wardrobe conundrum that I identified in my last post. The premise was simple: I set out to wear every single piece of clothing and accessory that I own.

I know I was recently thinking about adding some more styles and silhouettes to my wardrobe, but it occurred to me that this perhaps wouldn't be the best plan while I was still overwhelmed and finding it difficult to identify what I do and don't like. I could easily end up fielding total chaos, and I didn't want that. So first I decided to try to get clear on what I do and don't feel good in - but not by intellectualising it or thinking my way through it, because I've already learned that that doesn't work. I couldn't decide just by thinking about it whether I feel happier wearing more quirky, unconventional outfits or simple, refined ones - or something in between - but I realised that I could start to find out simply by using what I already had and just paying attention. Do I feel embarrassed and unattractive or cheerful and empowered in bright layers? Do I feel invisible and staid or sexy and elegant in plain black? Time to find out.

I'd noticed over the course of this year that whilst I often think I'm wearing all my clothes, there are items I do actually avoid, often because of a vague feeling of discomfort that I've chosen to ignore instead of take notice of, or because my body doesn't get on with the garment (like shorts that are just so pretty, but which also ride up between my thighs and have to be pulled inelegantly out of my crotch every two minutes). So to try to help myself stop avoiding and ignoring these feelings, I started using this wardrobe inventory spreadsheet from Christina Mychas. I just took a moment each morning after getting dressed to note down the items I had put on. I also started noting in my journal each evening how I had felt throughout the day.

I felt a bit worried starting this experiment because I had a feeling that I didn't actually like the way I felt in a lot of my clothes. I was also concerned that I might mistake temporary boredom with an item for genuine discomfort or dislike, so I decided to only commit to wearing the items at first, not making any final decisions about them. That was a bridge I'd cross when I came to it.

So what did I learn from challenging myself to wear my stuff?

First, I learned to pay attention more to the most subtle of feelings. Sure, the T-shirt and leggings I'm wearing right now are cute, but I can feel that I don't want to go and run my errands later wearing this, I'd rather change into something a little smarter. Previously I would have ignored the tiny deep-down feeling of reluctance and just gone about my day feeling a little bit less-than.

I also learned that having some things I don't wear often is... not a bad thing. Classic minimalist logic would dictate that I should get rid of things I wear less than once a year, but I have some beautiful medieval dresses that I only wear very occasionally... But I love them! They make me so happy! I started to think it would be a joyless wardrobe (life) without the occasional frivolous thing, even if it wasn't practical for regular use.

Encouragingly, filling in the inventory spreadsheet allowed me to see changing trends in my purchasing behaviours. Items purchased before 2020 were more likely to be bought new, and for reasons such as 'just liked it'. Items purchased in 2022 were almost all secondhand, and the reasons were more likely to be 'replacement', 'versatile', 'basic' or 'needed for a trip' (the latter being a ski jacket I got off Vinted to keep me warm and dry on our Shetland sojourn). 

I found that I could style 99% of the things I had in multiple ways, even the 'maybe' items and many things I had mentally earmarked as unwearable. The exceptions were the items that simply did not fit or which caused physical discomfort in some way, and eventually I ordered a Re-Fashion bag to deal with those.

A couple of weeks in, I noticed that I was feeling differently about my wardrobe. The itch to buy this or that 'one more item' to 'pull everything together' had completely faded as I was coming to appreciate the sheer vastness of what I already had. I was also coming to understand just how much money, labour and resources had gone into the making of this hugely abundant selection of clothes. This made me want to keep wearing them for longer, instead of putting myself through some intensive makeover experience to end up with an entirely different set of clothes, which was the idea that had been niggling in the back of my mind for quite some time beforehand. I mean, I knew I had a lot, but actually making myself wear all the things helped me to experience that on a physical, visceral level. I have ENOUGH.

However, I also noticed that I had lots and lots of the same kind of thing. My biggest vice, apparently, was still T-shirts with printed designs, dozens of black ones in particular, mostly purchased for the simple reason 'I just liked it'. Whilst they are all wearable and I still like them, I have made a mental note that when they start to wear out I will replace a good half of them with different items - long-sleeved tops that I can layer with, tank tops for the hot weather we are seeing more regularly in the UK, maybe even some T-shirts that are not black (wild, I know). I've been pulled towards uniform dressing, and I do appreciate the simplicity of the tee-and-jeans combo, but after several weeks cycling through my many semi-identical tops, I was, frankly, a bit bored, and eager to mix things up a little bit. And not by buying another T-shirt, which I suspect is the strategy I was previously applying, hence why I have so many.

Did I manage to answer the question - simple or chaotic? Well, yes and no. I must admit that I don't think I'm ready for a uniform just yet. I found that I really enjoyed layering things in unusual ways and being creative. My emphasis remains on comfort and practicality, but I found a lot of enjoyment and - yes - empowerment in adding distinctive touches and flourishes. So I remain betwixt and between, but happily I no longer feel as though I'm being pulled in different directions, because I understand what works for me right now.

I also felt, for the first time in a long time, a strong connection to my younger self and my authentic style. At last I am beginning to choose to pay attention to my unique aesthetic impulses and preferences, rather than assuming that other people know more about style and taste than I do, at least as it applies to myself. 

This was a really worthwhile experiment, and I'm glad I made the effort to plumb the depths of my cupboard and those lurking 'maybe' boxes. Some of those items made the best outfits, by the way.

Inspiration:

Closet Beliefs that are Limiting Your Personal Style

My Ever-Evolving Relationship With My Clothes

6 Bad Style Habits You Need To Break ASAP

A Dream Told Me To Go Shopping

I broke my shopping ban.

And so, the endlessly frustrating cycle continues. 

I bought two summery crop tops from a sustainable fashion stall at a local vegan market. In my defense, the Spud had uncharacteristically been a complete hellion the entire morning and I was nearly at my wits' end - I can see why I succumbed to the little voice in the back of my brain whispering, "Go on, you need a treat, those colours are so pretty, you hardly have any summer tops..."

The second incident was actually on my wedding night. I had wandered into the pub next door where a band was playing. I immediately loved their vibe and when the set finished I stopped to chat with them over a suitcase full of merch. I bought an album and a top with the band name and logo on (it's a primrose yellow tube top, which is slightly out of my comfort zone, so I did make a point of wearing it the next day). 

I think that kind of opened the floodgates, because over the next couple of days I bought another T-shirt and a pair of majestic tasselled earrings. Then at full moon I had a bit of a Vinted and Etsy splurge, which isn't quite as bad as it sounds - most of my purchases were things I'd bookmarked months ago, or necessary items, such as a water- and windproof jacket for our trip to Shetland in the autumn.

But, realistically, looking ahead to the medieval market we were planning to visit the next weekend, my upcoming trip to Brighton with my best friend, and the annual delights of our trip to St David's, I had to accept that my incredible restraint in Glastonbury was starting to look like a one-off. I decided instead to write myself a shopping list of things I wanted and/or needed, and channel myself into hunting the exact right things rather than risking the scattershot approach. In between those three dates I determined to stop browsing anywhere else, and after St David's I would have one Absolute Last Damn Try at the no-buy challenge.

Except it kind of didn't work that way, but hear me out. A couple of nights before the medieval market, I had a dream about an item of clothing I used to have, but had charity shopped and then regretted during my 'must be invisible' clearout. I've tried and failed to find the same item a few times over the years - it was mass-produced, but it's no longer manufactured and hasn't turned up on eBay.

When we got to the market we took a detour to find a public convenience, and found a handful of stalls outside the market grounds which we might not have otherwise noticed. And I saw this item hanging from the back of one of the stalls! I rushed over and grabbed it immediately. It was my size, and the only one left. And half the price I'd originally paid. 

Now I know the more practical-minded among you will be rolling your eyes at me reading anything into this. So I will simply say that the day after the market I had a coffee and a chat with one of my best friends. Alice has had her own issues with money and with shopping over the years, so I felt comfortable to explain that I wanted to be really thoughtful and careful about my purchases on our Brighton trip - but that, despite everything I've said, done and learned in the last three years, I did want to shop. 

It was a relief to talk (not write) about this so openly with her - she actually mentioned first that she wanted to make good choices and focus on needful things, which made me feel a lot calmer, knowing that on this trip I would have someone in the same boat with me!

Alice has always loved beautiful, unusual clothing - vintage, goth, and hippie styles being some of her favourites over the years -  but until fairly recently, she has bought her favourite items in sizes that don't fit, hoping to change her body. I was so pleased and proud when she cleared out this second 'aspirational' wardrobe and started buying the clothes she really wanted to wear for the body she has right now. At times her enthusiastic shopping has bordered on the alarming, and like me she has gone too far on some occasions, but as her friend it's been fantastic to watch her blossom as she expresses herself more and more. 

I've been so adamant that shopping is never the answer that it took me a while to realise that it's really been beneficial for Alice at this time. It's been amazing to see her confidence grow as she discovers and refines her style(s). Similarly, by and large the purchases and ban breaks I have made over the last couple of years have, in all honesty, given me so much joy (once the guilt of the actual purchase fades!). After years of stifling - variously - my preferences, my needs, or my interests, I really feel like I've started to come out of my shell. Some of the things I've worn, not to mention the things I've been able to do or take part in, this year in particular, are things I would have been too nervous or self-conscious to even contemplate a couple of years ago. I feel like I'm at a point of trying to really honour and celebrate my truest self, and as shallow as it sounds to admit to this, some of this change has been due to allowing myself to dress up a bit more, to enjoy clothes and make-up again.

The opposite is also true - I never would have gotten to this point without taking time out from shopping to renew my connection with nature, to get more comfortable in my own skin, and to redefine and embrace what is most important to me. But as with all things, it seems to be a question of finding the balance. 

Don't get me wrong - my end goal with this personal project is still to quit shopping, and develop a more self-sufficient, eco-friendly lifestyle. But I'm starting to think that my instinct at the beginning of this year - not to run a ban in 2022, to give myself some time without restrictions in place - was good instinct.

Maybe you will think I am making excuses or lapsing back into old ways. But I think I want to let go and trust myself for a while longer. At the medieval market, I got worried and thought I had really overspent. But when I sat down afterwards and looked at the numbers, I had bought only a few things, spent less than I thought and within sensible limits. I had bought only one thing not on my shopping list, which was the item from my dream. The items I chose were versatile, and all one-of-a-kind items made by individual artisans. Would buying nothing have actually been a better choice?

I think I want to give myself, for the remainder of this year, the gift of trust, as well as the gift of allowing myself to create the beautiful, unique, somewhat chamaeleonic, mostly thrifted wardrobe of my imaginings. Again, perhaps this is just an excuse - although it doesn't feel like it - but I think it might be easier in the future to attempt and actually complete a one-year shopping ban, if I'm starting from a point where my collection of clothing - however big or small - is representative of the person I feel I am inside. 

I do have some misgivings - I've expressly said in the past that there is no point when my wardrobe will be 'finished', and I know that there will always be temptations, but I hope that I will learn to find that point of balance and know when enough is enough. I no longer need to fit in at school, to fit into various subcultures, to impress partners or peers, or to create a certain kind of image on social media. I kind of want to give myself the freedom to enjoy the things I enjoy, before the cost of living rises to a point that I can't afford these luxuries any more.

For the first time in a very long time I feel like I'm nearly there - at last I understand how to choose, how to provide myself just enough - but not too much - variety that I can be playful and creative but not stressed or overwhelmed, what I really will wear, what feels good to wear, what makes me happy (regardless of whether it's flattering), how to appreciate and enjoy those jeans and T-shirt days as much as my dressed-up-fancy days and feel just as good about myself either way. 

I really hope I'm not deluding myself. I don't feel like I am. 

My New No-Buy Year

At the end of April this year I could feel myself spiralling back into old behaviours. I was checking Instagram dozens of times a day even though it reliably made me feel crappy, browsing Pinterest, hitting up Vinted again and again for that 'one last thing' I needed. My rewilding project for the year was going out of the window, and the Spud and I seemed to have started watching daytime telly, which historically I'd always avoided. 

At last I decided it was time to break the cycle before its grip on me could tighten any further. I was actually feeling nostalgic for my previous shopping bans. They had been challenging and difficult, but my life had felt fuller. I'd made more things, talked more to my friends, learned to cook, turned my journals into a memoir. 

I'd been so adamant that I wasn't going to ban myself from anything in 2022, but I could sense that the progress I'd worked hard to make was in danger of coming undone. Then I watched these two videos from Hannah Louise Poston, which really clinched it for me:

This video really hit hard for me. The way she describes "wanting to want", always looking for a new item to obsess over, using shopping as a kind of palliative faux self-care to paper over the cracks - that's me. And a lot of other people I know, actually. 

One thing I've learned from being open about my struggles with compulsive shopping is that most of us in this late-stage capitalist society are screwed up in one way or another about shopping. Older generations would probably consider my age group greedy or spoiled, which - to be blunt - we are, compared to the people who have to actually manufacture the stuff we buy. But we're also deeply conditioned to behave in this way by the society we live in, as Poston says in her video.

I've had some really interesting conversations with friends since starting my shopping ban, which have convinced me that the majority of us are completely screwed up about some combination of the following: money management, self-image, self-worth, compulsive buying, the gap between our values and behaviours (e.g. we know about sweatshops but can't give up the Primark habit), and many more issues swirling around the money/shopping vortex. 

I've spoken with friends who thought of shopping problems as a women's thing until they compulsively spent hundreds of pounds on kitchen equipment and then looked a little closer at their own habits. Friends who earn good money but have burned through it all before the next payday and had to rely on colleagues to bring in lunches for them. Friends who received a large payout and spent the lot without noticing because they are too edgy about money to ever look at their bank statements. Some who have multiple kitchen appliances stashed in their garages because the first three didn't quite match their colour scheme. Who describe themselves as broke and are always worried about the bills, but still make time for a weekly manicure and can never have enough cosmetics. 

I started my no-buy year thinking that my shopping was disastrous and everyone else was living within their means. I'm coming to understand that there are loads of people who really, really, don't have a handle on this shit, and in fact it's totally normalised and even encouraged by our culture. I'd been hearing myself for years making excuses for why I needed the most frivolous of items when I knew I couldn't afford them, and somehow I'd never noticed I was surrounded by other people doing the same. I know that some of those people read this blog, and I wish I could persuade them to go on this new shopping ban adventure with me, but I guess it's one of those things that you have to choose for yourself when you're ready. (But I'd love a ban buddy or even group, hit me up if you want to give it a go.)

I really love Poston's list of things to do that aren't shopping, and again this was a big factor in why I decided to give the no-shopping year another try - I was doing these things, and I was loving it. I was getting so much more value from what I already owned, I was feeling good about myself, I was learning new skills and having a really good time. I was being more creative than I have been in years. Then I started to slide back into the social-media-and-shopping life, and those activities started to gather dust once again.

I wanted to think harder this time about what rules I'm going to put in place, because as per the video, I know there are times when it will be harder for me to stick to my rules. Last time I gave up social media cold turkey, which I think made it easier for me to keep a clear head, but this time I probably can't do that - at least not until after my book launch - so I'll need to think really hard about when and how I use it, as well as what I do immediately afterwards. 

Holidays and days out are also huge weak points for me. I find it really hard not to think of trips primarily as shopping opportunities, so I need to get some guidelines in place for how I'll handle these - whether I'll allow some purchases, or go cold turkey. I also have a day out planned that is specifically a shopping trip with some girlfriends, but I know I'm already overdoing it with clothes, so I may choose to focus more on the beaches-and-cafes aspects of that trip, or make a list of items I could possibly buy (I have loads of jumpers but not many summer tops or dresses, for example). I can't decide how tough on myself to be this time around, so feel free to weigh in with your thoughts.

Meanwhile, I hope you find these videos as interesting and inspiring as I did! I'll let you know how things pan out this time around...

My Love Affair With Old Clothes

One of the biggest shifts in my thinking since I started making efforts to change the way I shop has been in the way I view clothes. Previously, like many people, I bought new clothes unthinkingly. I worked in a charity shop, so often bought secondhand, but I also trawled Topshop (RIP) in my lunch breaks, and as regular readers will know, shopped online on a daily (if not hourly) basis. Clothes came into my house and went out again to the charity shop like flotsam borne on the tides.

This last year, I've stopped buying fast fashion. It's something I'd considered before - and tried before - but I failed to resist the siren song of New Look, Zara and H&M. This year, for whatever reason, it just suddenly clicked, and all of a sudden fast fashion holds no more interest for me than a dictionary would for a bumblebee. 

Old clothes are just so much more interesting! Whether from charity shops, online resellers, or passed on from friends, you never know what you might find. I'm currently wearing a pair of mauve, navy and emerald brushed cotton trousers - St Michael - which I got in a charity shop for just £2. They are so unusual, and comfortable too.

I have a tendency to rescue the weird and unwanted from charity shops - a moth-eaten cardigan with a Fair Isle-ish pattern in an ugly colourway gets a few punk patches added and becomes a wardrobe favourite, warm and versatile. 

Charity shop cardigans mended with patches

Another source of old clothes is my own wardrobe. I have clothes that are coming up ten years old - most notably an orange Star Wars t-shirt with a pun about coffee (May the Froth Be With You), which I originally bought for 94p in a charity shop when I was about 21. It's been worn on pretty much a weekly basis for all those years and has become attractively weathered. It still goes with everything.

The longer I go without buying new, the more grateful I feel for what I have. I expected to feel bored with my older items, and sometimes I do 'rest' items for a bit, but at the moment every time I open my wardrobe I feel delighted!

I regret getting rid of an old favourite t-shirt of mine - it had a beautiful Ganesha design on it and was just the right length - when it became peppered with holes. It didn't occur to me then that I could mend the holes, or put a different coloured fabric underneath and make a feature of them. 

Customising clothes was an idea I first really became aware of in my goth years. As the goth scene developed out of punk in the late 70s and 80s, it came with a strong DIY ethic. Or perhaps it was more deconstruct-it-yourself, as rips, patches and safety pins were often strongly featured. Sadly, over the last few decades this handmade, creative ethos has been seen less in alternative fashion, with the rise of goth brands selling ready-made items to the black-clad masses (as seen particularly in the 90s with Hot Topic chain stores in the USA). Whilst more expensive than conventional fast fashion, the majority of these brands  - in my day some of the big names were the likes of Dead Threads, Hell Bunny, Poizen Industries, Phaze, Banned - are no more transparent about their supply chains and manufacturing processes than any of the stores on your local high street.

Whilst I certainly availed myself of these brands as a young gothling, I was always aware of a faction within the goth scene who sourced their clothes secondhand, customised and altered prosaic items of black clothing into something unique, or even made their own clothing from scratch. I didn't have the commitment then to adopt this ethos, although even I got handy with some black dye and safety pins from time to time.

Since moving on from the goth look, customising hadn't really had a place in my life. I was a bit wary about being judged for things looking 'handmade'. Funny - now I embrace it. I love that visible mending is becoming more popular, and as well as darning, patching and replacing buttons I'm looking to tackle bigger challenges. I have a much-loved dress that doesn't fit any more that I'm intending to make into a skirt. 

I don't worry much any more about whether I'm suitably alternative, or how to define my look, but I do love having a wardrobe that is totally unique. The only possible downside is that my growing tendency towards making things work means that I'm keeping things I would have previously let go of. This is better for the environment, but not brilliant for keeping my wardrobe under control! Especially since I'm working in a charity shop now - I'm trying really hard to keep my acquisition in check, but gosh, I really couldn't resist those checked trousers. I'm spending wayyyyy less on clothes these days, but not necessarily buying less!

I am away next week - normal service will be resumed upon my return!

Ways I'd Like To Rejig Society (or, Unfucking A Couple of Things That Are Fucked)

I had a strange and memorable conversation with a dear friend a few years ago. We were talking about cosmetic companies testing their products on animals. Awful, she said, disgusting. Shouldn't be allowed. 

So, you check the labels when you buy make-up, then? To make sure it's cruelty free?

Oh no, she said with a brisk shake of the head. Can't be bothered with all that.

I think this illustrates the way a lot of people feel about this and other related issues - animal testing, food production, sweatshop factories, poverty and hunger, forced labour and modern slavery, climate change, mass extinction. Sure, we know there's a problem, and in general we think this stuff shouldn't be happening. But... the way we live is so easy. So comfy. Let's just draw a discreet veil over all the stuff we wish wasn't happening so that we can just carry on the way we are.

This is why I believe that, unlike economics, sustainability needs to apply from the top down. If new standards for businesses, new legislation, were to exist, the choices available to the everyday consumer could be made less damaging. It's easy to choose cruelty free when all of the options are cruelty free. You don't need to check your labels for the leaping bunny when cruelty free and sustainable is simply the default. 

I'm not really sure why FairTrade, cruelty free, organic and eco friendly options are still considered a bit niche, and items made by desperate people in horrific conditions using toxic chemicals are the acceptable norm. I hope to see this change - really change - within my lifetime.

Some people may feel a sense of resistance to the idea of having their options for consumption limited. We are used to choosing from a vast menu of options for everything - from wedding dresses to peanut butter - and we don't really want this to change. But who would knowingly choose children's toys containing lead and mercury, or a plastic lunch box that potentially releases carcinogens into your food? To say nothing of the hazards for the people who have to make such things. In his book Consumed, Benjamin Barber writes, "We are seduced into thinking that the right to choose from a menu is the essence of liberty, but with respect to relevant outcomes the real power, and hence the real freedom, is in the determination of what is on the menu."

Businesses and governments love to put the onus for change on the individual consumer, rather than accepting any limitations on their greed and rapacious behaviour. But no one individual can do everything, even if they felt inclined, when as we have seen, many simply aren't interested in doing things that aren't easy. In a world where we still have to employ people to pick up litter thrown on the ground, we can't expect every individual to make every choice for the good of the whole planet. And adding more and more green choices to the smorgasbord of options already available can't be the answer on its own - as Annie Leonard notes in The Story of Stuff, "It's simply not possible to get 100 percent agreement from nearly 7 billion people on any issue, and our ecological systems are on such overload, that we simply don't have time to try. Imagine if we had had to wait for 100 percent consensus before getting women the vote or ending slavery: we'd still be waiting."

I believe that we can build a less environmentally destructive, more equitable society. I also believe that as things currently stand, we need legislation to help us do so. 

Similarly, when we talk about sustainability - or, more to the point, when our so-called leaders talk about sustainability - the emphasis is always on preserving the status quo. As John Michael Greer demonstrates in the introduction to his book Green Wizardry, "Consider the endless bickering over the potential of renewable energy in the media and the internet. Most of that bickering assumes that the only way a society can or should use energy is the way today's industrial nations use energy. Thus you see one side insisting that windpower, say, can provide the same sort of instantly accessible and abundant energy supply we're used to having [...], while the other side - generally with better evidence - insists that it cannot. 

"What inevitably gets missed in these debates is the fact that it's entirely possible to have a technologically advanced and humane society without having electricity on demand from sockets on every wall across the length and breadth of a continent. [...] What stands in the way of this recognition is the emotional power of today's ideology of progress, with its implicit assumption that the way we happen to do things must be the best, or even the only, possible way to do them."

Imagining other ways of living can be uncomfortable, even scary. This, I suspect, is how a lot of people feel with regards to the idea of buying less. It's a limitation. A sacrifice. A loss of freedom. Naturally, we chafe against even the idea of restraint. We are so used to having whatever we want, preferably immediately, that alternatives seem dismal, frightening, unpatriotic. Certainly I have felt that way, even though my attempts to buy less have increased my resilience, self-esteem, appreciation and contentment almost from day one.

Ultimately, however, these are the changes we need to make - as a society, we must learn to consume less, waste less, and cooperate more. Because we have already done damage to the Earth, our home, through our current mode of living, and as this century wears on and the results of that damage become ever more apparent, we will need to adapt if we wish to survive. 

Up until fairly recently, I've been frightened of these changes. Dreading them. I couldn't picture what a society might look like that could weather the future and the crisis we face. However, John Michael Greer's Green Wizardry, with its discussion of appropriate tech, made me feel far more hopeful. And if you'll forgive me referring once again to The Story of Stuff, I found much to be optimistic about in Annie Leonard's description of her living situation, which I would very much like to emulate:

 "It's really just a bunch of good friends who chose to live near one another - really near, like next door. We find life easier and more rewarding because we focus more on building community than on buying Stuff. We share a big yard; we often eat meals together; but each family has its own self-contained home into which we can retreat when we want to be alone."

In Leonard's community, even watching TV is something that people generally do together. Stuff is shared between families so less resources are used on buying new items. Services are shared too - plumbing, cooking, babysitting, repairs, carpooling. (I WISH I had had this as a new mum.) If someone is sick, the community steps in again for rides to the doctor, childcare, even bringing flowers. 

If we could shift to a society set up like this, we could buy less and lose nothing.

Why I'm Grateful For My Clutter

A Sudden Desire For Less

The start of the first UK lockdown affected me very strangely. In the house all day with a lively toddler - except for our daily walk around the nature reserve, which I think kept us both sane - I suddenly felt sick of all the stuff we had around us. I started reading blogs and books about minimalism. I scrutinised everything in our home with an eagle eye. This throw may have been perfectly acceptable and useful as a lap blanket, but did it really bring me joy? Did it? DID IT?!

Every day Dai came home from work to find that more of our belongings had migrated to the cupboard under the stairs. I quoted Courtney Carver constantly and thought of Marie Kondo like a friend (Spark Joy is a lovely book). But, a few days later, I'd get weepy and emotional and put everything back. Then, waking up in the morning, I'd find my books and ornaments suddenly intolerable, and the whole thing would start again. I had to run out of the house in my sock feet early one day to retrieve some irreplaceable sentimental items from the recycling before the bin men arrived. This declutter/reclutter cycle, with its accompanying emotional highs and lows, went on for more than a month. 

I realised that there must be something about minimalism that kept me coming back, even when one failed declutter after another seemed to be saying that this lifestyle wasn't for me. It was true that the spartan aesthetic so often associated with minimalism didn't capture my imagination. Besides, we'd experienced that form of sparse, modern, neutral style in our council estate house for the first few weeks after we moved in, and the effect was grim. Like living in a beige shoebox. If we'd had a mountain or beach vista outside our windows it might have worked, but a car park and bus stop view really added nothing to the ambience of the place. I had been glad to put up art on the walls, buy some cheery yellow sofa cushions and wall stickers just to brighten the place up. We'd decided against painting the walls, except the Spud's nursery, which was vibrant turquoise, as after the wedding we were planning to look for somewhere else to live. In the meantime, the extraneous ornaments, photographs and other "clutter" had made the place a bit more cosy. 

A Different Tack

After bagging up my CDs, childhood toys, Tarot cards, excess clothing and art supplies - and then putting them back again - for what I hoped would be the final time, I realised that a different approach was needed. I had no problem parting with DVDs we hadn't enjoyed or passing on clothes that didn't fit any more, but my awareness of the environmental crisis that our excess consumption was creating meant I really didn't like being wasteful. If I could use something, I wanted to use it. 

I was also forced to admit that I didn't want to get rid of sentimental items. I had pared down my photos and let go of those things I no longer felt any attachment to, but just as I didn't want bare walls and a Spartan home, I also didn't want to get rid of all my childhood toys or gifts from loved ones. When I realised this, I unboxed my oldest toys and arranged them on top of my wardrobe where I could see them and enjoy them. These were not "clutter", these were things I treasured, and trying to force myself to get rid of them was only causing me stress and upset.

I had to trust myself to recognise what really was extraneous. And I didn't want to just swamp the charity shops with my castoffs, either. I began approaching my unwanted items with a "rehoming" mindset - would a friend like this book? Would my mum wear this jumper? Could I sell this doll on eBay (and get some extra money into the bargain)? Yes, it took longer, but I felt that taking this time and effort was a step in the direction of taking responsibility for my consumer excess. It was instilling the lesson of caring for my belongings - of not participating in a throwaway culture - in a way that a big declutter and a trip to the Salvation Army never had. 

So why did I keep coming back to the concept of minimalism? Clearly I was never going to own less than 100 items (or whatever), and I was no longer invested in decluttering in favour of using, wearing out or rehoming. 

Marie Kondo suggests that we start by forming a vision of the kind of life we want. Well, I had tried and tried, and frankly had no idea. Pinterest boards only made me more confused. Apparently I liked most things - a cluttered bookshelf here, a folksy narrow boat there, a country cottage decked in florals, a sleek Copenhagen apartment. Once again, I had to look beyond the stuff. What was the appeal of these images? They told me I valued a pleasant home, simple joys, a sense of freedom, creativity and self-expression.

That was a start. I could see then that I kept coming back to those minimalist bloggers and writers because their work provoked a sense of expansiveness, of prioritising something more than things.

Then I knew what my next step was. My shopping ban was still the most important part of my plan - a pause in the influx of new things, a breathing space. Next, I too had to start prioritising something other than things. Decluttering had seemed like the answer, but it was still a focus on STUFF. 

I knew that writing regularly, a habit I had long neglected, could begin to fulfil the need for creativity and expression. But what about that freedom and expansiveness? How could I get some of that without buying things OR throwing them away? I thought about the minimalist books and blogs I had read, and I decided that next I would focus on my health. I hadn't really exercised in years. Perhaps a regular yoga practise could bring a feeling of expansiveness to my physical body? I started rolling out my mat on the patio in the mornings, although my son did like to drive his lorries underneath me or sit on my head. And perhaps walking in nature, or learning a new craft, or finally picking up my guitar again, would give me freedom? 

It's still a work in progress, but I've stopped wanting to get rid of everything my eyes rest on! I taught myself to spin yarn (I had a drop spindle and some wool roving kicking around that I bought on impulse at a Christmas market), and to cook and darn. I grew my first crop of vegetables in our garden (radicchio and Swiss chard). Between keeping my hands and mind busy, and actually using the things I had been keeping hidden away in the cupboards, I soothed my agitated lockdown brain and was able to create instead of consume. 

I'm hoping that as things wear out, are used up, or otherwise cease to be useful and are passed on, I will gradually reach a balance point, a place of "enoughness". But for now I'm happy with my clutter, and grateful for the abundance that I have.

Little Breakthroughs

By October 2019, I was fighting hard not to backslide into my old ways. But the shopping ban, failure or not, had already taught me so much - and at least it had saved me some money. I'd been keeping a running list of everything I considered buying - and mostly hadn't bought. I was starting to see how much I was in my own head, and how much of that related to acquisition or image. Turning it over in my head all the time, what my style should be or represent, what I could buy to make it so, as if my personality and existence were a puzzle I could solve only by shopping.

When had stuff become of such importance to me? I was surprised, and ashamed, to realise that the acts of acquiring, storing, and searching for things to own had taken the starring role in my life story. I had no long term goals, no big ideas for what I wanted to do with my short time on earth, but I knew that the plan had never been to become the custodian of the Me Museum. 

In his book All Consuming, Neal Lawson points out that previous generations of humanity defined themselves by what they produced, whereas we now define ourselves by what we own, what we buy. Was it any coincidence that as my Instagram use went up and my obsession with shopping skyrocketed, I lost interest in drawing, writing, making art in myriad small ways?

I didn't like this person I had turned into, this set of greedy, grasping values that had replaced anything meaningful I'd once striven for. This was no time for giving up.  

I ruthlessly edited my Amazon wishlist. I suddenly felt that I wanted nothing coming into my life that I wasn't totally excited about. I'd noticed a panicky feeling in bookshops that there seemed to be less books that I might want to read, yet I hadn't finished the stockpile I'd built up working in a charity shop years ago! Not to mention the beloved old books I hadn't had chance to re-read in years. 

I was amazed by how much more I was beginning to enjoy and appreciate the things I already had. DVDs, books, colouring books, notebooks, yarn and needles, sketchbooks... I could entertain myself for years without needing to buy a single new thing. I had also rediscovered the pleasure of savouring a thing before moving on to the next. Each individual book in a series gave me so much more enjoyment when I wasn't racing through to tick the next one off the list.

This was also the first month when I noticed a marked decline in those feelings of comparison that had been plaguing me. Rather than fretting about my style (or fashion, the vapid, twittering cousin of personal style), I simply put on my clothes and had done with it. If we were going out, I'd wear slightly nicer jeans, a smarter top, maybe a bit of make-up. At home, I wore scruffs. 

Every now and again my brain helpfully suggested that I could be sexier, happier or more fulfilled if I just bought a new outfit whenever I wanted. 

But mostly I'd just... stopped thinking about it. What I had was enough. I was enough. A brief pang of wanting, and the feeling would pass. 

It was around this time that The T-Shirt arrived. My skin had flared up, thanks to a foundation that really didn't agree with me, and my hair badly needed a wash with clarifying shampoo to remove some nasty sticky product build-up. Neither looking nor feeling my best, I pulled on The T-Shirt, this life-changing garment, this thing I'd built up in my head as the one last touch I needed to be complete...

And I was embarrassed to admit that when I looked in the mirror, there was a distinct sense of anticlimax. I still looked a bit crap and felt a bit deflated. I was just wearing a different shirt. 

Just like everything else hanging in my wardrobe, the high The T-Shirt gave me couldn't last beyond the point of purchase. I had been a sucker for a killer tagline and a good photography campaign. But it was still just a t-shirt.

This was the month the Spud turned one. I barely remember now what presents I bought him. I remember he was far more interested in eating the wrapping anyway.

I remember that we threw him a party and invited far too many people, almost all of whom came. Dai and I spent two days cleaning the house, hiding the assorted detritus of family life with an active baby who had got the hang of this walking malarkey two months previous (a boddler?). When party time came, we had guests packed in two to an armchair, sitting on the floor, perched on the coffee table. I wore a wafty floral blouse from the charity shop and a shiny blue cardboard crown and spent much of the party alternating between doing the music for pass the parcel - a brilliant power trip - and trying to coax the Spud out of the kitchen, where he had taken wide-eyed refuge from this influx of visitors. 

Dai had made a Tigger cake from scratch with a rented cake tin, a thing I hadn't imagined existed in this day and age. The cake was brilliant orange and big enough to feed about forty people. Dai wasn't happy with how the icing turned out and I was so overwrought already that his disappointment reduced me to tears! 

Emotional overload notwithstanding, it was a wonderful day, full of love and mayhem. We didn't have Pinterest-worthy themed decor and we didn't spend a fortune, and it was possibly all the better for that 

And so October and November, aside from a lot of fuss about Christmas shopping, passed with a feeling of great optimism - finally, the lessons I was learning were starting to sink in.

February Accountability

This month, I finally gave in and had a huge clear out of my wardrobe. January's gentle filtering hadn't done the job, and I was finding that tidying, organising, moving, hunting through, laundering and repairing my 200-plus garments was taking up way too much time and headspace - not to mention the daily dilemma of trying to choose what I wanted to wear amongst the should-wears, the never-wears, the it'd-be-great-if-not-for-that-weird-stain items. I'd tidied the rest of our bedroom, but my huge heaps of clothes that didn't fit into my wardrobe or storage boxes meant that it still looked messy.

I was frightened of being ruthless after my two previous clear out disasters of 2019 and 2020, but Topaz had just had a big clear out herself and was able to encourage me through it. Eventually something just seemed to click, and I suddenly felt lighter and more clearheaded. The only setback was that after taking some bags down to the clothing bank, I discovered I could actually have made a little money by using Loopster. But never mind! (I'd also sent some items to Re-Fashion and Thrift+, I have a couple of items for eBay, and two or three bags went to family and friends.)

The reason I think it went better this time than last time was that I haven't been constantly buying in between, so I've gotten to know myself a little better and understand what I like, as well as what I do and don't wear. Whilst I didn't want to be wasteful, eventually I knew that my headspace and peace of mind needed to take priority - I've been saying all along that I want to stop thinking about clothes all the time, and I hope that now I've managed to get myself to a place where that can happen.

Happily, my allowed purchase for this month was not clothing! On the first of the month I had an email to say that an item I'd been interested in was back in stock, and although it was utterly frivolous I decided to go for it, as I thought it was really beautiful and would make me smile. I'd been debating all through January what I might buy next, and initially I was concerned that my eventual choice of purchase was quite random, but I think I've made a good choice as it's very 'me' and I love to see it in my home. It was this LED cushion with artwork by Lisa Parker.

I also had an 'oops' moment, where I realised I was putting off making some necessary purchases because I was counting them under the low-buy rules. Really it was a bit mean-spirited towards myself to treat foot cream and a treatment for a dry scalp like frivolities or treats. The aim of this game is not to buy as little as possible or to live a monastic life but to learn how to make better choices with my money. So I've ordered my scalp treatment and will shortly be picking up some shea butter from the health shop for my poor, unhappy feet!

The Year of Being Myself

Welcome back! I hope you had a lovely Christmas and ate your body weight in roast potatoes. So this is 2021... After the Shitshow Formerly Known As 2020, I'll admit I'm reluctant to get too excited about what might be in store. 

However, this year, I've decided to change tactics a little with my shopping ban. I'd basically done a Mrs. Frugalwoods and stopped doing anything that cost money (make-up, nail varnish, professional haircuts), generally citing environmental worries. I did eventually realise that one person not dyeing their hair was not going to change the world, and actually I am allowed to look nice and enjoy myself a bit. Instead of being a bit of a martyr.

I had hoped that, like Mrs F., cutting back my beauty routines would help me feel more confident and comfortable in my skin, and in some ways it has - I have come to like my own face without make-up, for example. But frankly I'd still like a hairstyle that suits me, and to paint my nails without feeling as if I'm being frivolous (yes, I have beaten myself up over some weird things during the last year or so).

So in the last weeks of December I bought a fair amount of stuff - some pretty nail varnishes, sandals made from recycled sailboat rope (I didn't have any attractive summer shoes, only a single pair of Very Practical ones), tartan trousers from London brand Love Too True to replace my old, beloved pair that sadly ripped up the bum cheek some years ago, a couple of Spirited Away t-shirts (bless Truffle Shuffle for providing ethically made nerdery) and some nice PJs so I can stop wearing my old, holey leggings to bed. And quite a lot of mochi, because, hooray food. I'm not sure when being slightly more environmentally conscious tipped over in my head into complete self-denial, sackcloth and ashes, but I'm definitely ready to move on from that now and find a balance between frugality, sustainability and actually being myself. Which leads me to the meat of this post.

Style Guides and Self-Expression

Recently, I read a book called The Curated Closet. I'd been watching a makeover show called Misfits Salon, which I would have loved as a teen. Unlike Snog, Marry, Avoid, which took outlandish dressers and toned their looks down (with a good helping of snark), Misfits Salon takes people who feel that for whatever reason their wardrobes aren't adequately expressing their personality, and turns up the dial. After happy-crying my way through a whole season, I leaped on Pinterest, seeking new ways I could express myself with fashion.

But I find Pinterest absolutely horrible to use - unless you know the exact words to describe what you're looking for it's hard to find anything useful, and I always seem to end up sucked into an oddly depressing vortex of girls much younger than me wearing Topshop's latest (or whoever is producing jeans with no thighs this season), accessorised with improbable waists and huge lips. And then I realise I've lost four hours.

So I turned to The Curated Closet. Early on in the shopping ban, I got rid of all my style guides and similar books, and found it a relief to no longer worry about someone else's arbitrary rules and opinions, so I approached the book with more than a little trepidation. 

If you know me, you might be surprised to hear that I have read and collected books about style and fashion. Because my current personal style is perhaps best described as 'practical middle aged mum and angry nineties kid go shopping, drunk, in Camden Market', I think the general assumption is that I don't care much. But I actually love clothes! I love to see how people, particularly women, choose to present themselves - not in a "Fashion Week street style" sense, but everyday people. Put me somewhere like Waterloo Station and I will happily sit and look at people's outfits for hours.

Yet I couldn't get on with The Curated Closet. I found myself thinking, this makes it all seem like such hard work. So much effort to put in, just for the negligible reward of feeling well-dressed. My current approach to the matter of dressing myself is to open my wardrobe, take out some clothes that coordinate in some vague way (or clash on purpose. Love me some revolting print mixes and colour combos) and put them on. If I'm given an item that I wouldn't define as being 'my style', I like to try it on anyway and see if I can make it work. 

Re-Learning How To Dress For Myself

After I'd mentioned on this blog once or twice that I have the occasional wobble about being the "worst dressed friend" or similar, I received such a sweet text from a dear friend, who has known me since nursery (!). She said, "Going back decades, I've always loved your sense of style and general randomosity of your clothes! We all get the little voice in the head telling us all the bad stuff, but tell your one that makes you worry about being the worst dressed where to go."

This gave me such a lift, and reminded me of the first clothing purchase I saved up for and bought myself - a pair of rainbow striped corduroy flares! I thought they were just the most beautiful, joyful things ever, and I loved them to pieces. No, they weren't tasteful, or "cool", or even terribly flattering, but they make me smile even now when I think about them. 

I am often teased by loved ones for some of my more appalling clothes purchases or combinations. This, I do not mind. I'm not totally oblivious - I know I'm prone to looking like I ran through a charity shop covered in glue. No, I'm not "well-dressed", or cool (good taste and coolness both being tedious and arbitrary ideas based on shifting goalposts and elitism, e.g. for there to be an in-crowd, there by definition has to be an out-crowd - oh, hello again high school), but I am warm when it's cold, dry when it's raining, my feet don't hurt, and I can handle getting muddy with my two-year-old. And I didn't have to spend precious life hours making a moodboard, a lifestyle pie chart or a style profile. Which is exactly what I want from my wardrobe.

Except for one tiny problem, which is this: when I look in the mirror lately, I don't like what I see. I don't feel like myself. 

After some thought, I realised that for the last two years, I've really thought only of my wardrobe in terms of quantity, cost, and wastage. I wear clothes I don't like, or that are physically uncomfortable, in order to get use out of them. I've been trying to save the world single-handedly by never throwing anything away, horrified by the thought of being wasteful. After a couple of ill-fated, badly-managed clearouts in the last couple of years, I have a lot of clothes that I wouldn't have chosen for myself but which I wear anyway. At the expense of chunks of self-esteem, on occasion.

So this year, I want to relearn how to enjoy clothes and dress for myself again. This is not carte blanche for a big shopping spree! As with books, I've discovered that there is a point for me where enough is enough - the unread pile becomes an obligation rather than a pleasure. Same with clothes - more choice equals more stress. Enjoying clothes is more about feeling right in what I have, not forever craving more and more. However, I do want to filter out the items that don't fit or that I feel frumpy, less-than-confident or downright godawful in. I feel like I'm kind of chiselling my true self out of a big block of stuff that isn't "me" any more, it's just obscuring the view.

My goal this year is to really tune in to my gut feelings, as they are the only yardstick I have - and stop feeling guilty for wanting to enjoy clothes and have some fun with the way I look. Embrace the part of me that says rainbow trousers are a good idea (she's still in there, which is why I own purple tie dye dungarees). This will also give me the tools to make better choices when I do make purchases - I certainly don't want thoughts of stuff and money to be always at the forefront of my mind, but that has been an unfortunate but necessary side effect of the ban. Going forward, I want to be able to make decisions based on joy, from a place of contentment and confidence. No more scarcity mindset - or guilt. And I can't wait!

January Accountability

I must be honest, I considered not doing a shopping ban at all this year. It frustrates me that I've not yet managed to complete my goal of 365 days without an unnecessary purchase, but I don't like the way my brain turned 'not buying things I don't need' into 'wanting to wear clothes I actually like is consumerist'. So after my last post, I stopped my day count and waited until the new year to decide what I was going to do (hence those guilt-free December purchases). My finances are currently pretty stable, so I don't have to pinch pennies quite as much as I have been, but I don't want to end up right back where I started either!

Firstly, I want to focus less on the not-shopping and more on what comes after - e.g , if I'm not shopping, thinking about shopping, or planning my next purchase, where am I going to put all that creative energy? Shopping, for me, has definitely been about expressing myself, via clothing, home decor, and other trinkets, so as well as learning to do that without a constant influx of the new, I also want to put the focus back on what I can produce instead of what I can consume. I don't know in what way yet, I just know that I don't want my life to be forever revolving around stuff, whether buying it or not buying it. I want a creative project to tackle, and possibly a class or a course of some kind. The most inspiring book I read in 2020 was The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie, and it reminded me what a big part creativity used to play in my life, before Facebook and email and 24/7 online shopping filled up all the empty spaces.

I've also decided to make this a "low-buy" rather than a no-shop year. I want to stop overshopping, but I do want to be able to purchase things relevant to my interests, or that otherwise bring value to my life, without it being a huge deal, or a source of guilt and stress. And I want to get out of the deprive-splurge cycle I seem to have ended up in. So I'm aiming for a monthly "allowed" purchase - we'll see how that goes.