My No-Buy July: A Belated Write-Up

July, it seemed, was a good month for those of us trying to buy less stuff. Frugalwoods was running the Uber Frugal Month (I've signed up for this so many times that I've memorised the emails, yet I still don't invest, and I haven't yet trusted myself with a credit card. Maybe next year. Why do I feel like there's this whole arena of adulthood associated with these kinds of financial decisions that I somehow don't feel ready for yet?). I also discovered a YouTuber, Christina Mychas, who was running a No-Buy July support group by email, and also has a Facebook group, Low Buy Beauties.

In July, our annual trip to Pembrokeshire was so close that I could almost smell the sea, and we were also starting to get excited about our trip to Shetland in October. Dai booked the overnight ferry at the beginning of July, and I was starting to realise, with considerable discomfort, that a 'big' holiday (we originally booked it to fall between my 30th birthday and Dai's 40th, but had to push it back a year due to covid uncertainties) would be something we could do far more regularly if I stopped spending so much money on other things.

My finances weren't looking great following my trip to Brighton with Alice. I hadn't emptied my piggy bank, but as a carer I'm on a low income, and it takes a while for the coffers to refill. I wasn't intending to spend a lot on either holiday, but it did remind me that it was time to have a look at how I was doing with my budgets.

Well, it wasn't good. When I added up the columns of numbers in the back of my journal, I learned that, seven months into the year, I was already over the budgets I'd set myself for cosmetics, books, and clothes. Clothing was the worst category - I'd nearly spent twice my annual budget, which meant, terrifyingly, that in seven months I'd nearly spent the same amount I spent throughout the whole of 2021. Not. Good. At all.

It was time for a bit of triage. I was on the waiting list for a commission from a slow fashion artisan I'd been admiring online for some time, and I contacted her to say I couldn't afford the piece right now, and would it be all right for me to get in touch in a few more months and go back on the bottom of the waiting list then. She was amazingly nice about it, and actually said that when I get back in touch I won't have to wait again, which was so kind. I also had a tattoo appointment booked in early September for a new large design on my left arm, but I knew I couldn't justify another three-figure spend, so I contacted my tattooist and cancelled the appointment. I did not enjoy doing these things, but I also would not have enjoyed finishing up the year with no cash cushion left in my account. The modern wisdom is 'treat yo'self', but without limits my spending was spiralling out of my control. Better to wait until I could afford these things without risk of crippling myself financially.

I was also still plugging away with Flylady, and our small house was looking so much better. Partly because it was cleaner (!), but also because we didn't have so much stuff squeezed where it didn't really fit. But then, reading back through my journal, I was quite alarmed to discover that apparently I had also had a 'big declutter' back in February. By July, I couldn't see the difference or remember a single thing I had gotten rid of only a few months ago, which freaked me out a bit! I took a quick inventory of my wardrobe, and was interested to find that my 63 t-shirts (as inventoried in 2019) had been reduced to a much more storage-space-friendly 25, yet even when I wracked my brain I could only think of five or six I had given to friends or donated. Where did the other 30-odd come from, and where did they go?!

This experience really confirmed to me that I am still not quite the mindful shopper I had convinced myself I was. I could do with being a lot stricter on myself when it comes to spending, and I think I'm doing the right thing by trying to get the most out of the items that I have so I don't constantly feel like I have to be seeking something more. It's a bit worrisome that so many pieces are still kind of just passing through - I do shop mainly second-hand nowadays, and I get a lot given to me from friends' clearouts, but if I don't want to be decluttering eternally I need to be MUCH more ruthless about what I bring into the house.

I decided to follow Mint Notion's Shop Your Closet challenge throughout July. It would challenge my ingrained consumer mindset - I'd noticed that when I picture myself doing this or that in the future, I imagine a fantasy wardrobe for myself and start planning what to buy, rather than figuring out appropriate outfits from the abundance I have already!

Week One

An easy week, shopping-wise. No temptations, no slips, no mistakes. I noticed that my usage of Instagram and Pinterest fell dramatically throughout the course of the week, which made me wonder how much the 'inspiration' I'm seeking actually translates to 'the next thing to buy'. 

This was also the week I had the brainwave of rearranging my clothes instead of decluttering any further. My winter gear was put away in under bed storage, and I moved my socks and bras from a drawer in my wardrobe into a small crate that sits in the wardrobe itself. Then I had enough room to vanquish the last of those plastic crates that have been living scattered around our bedroom. It's a great feeling and the room feels and looks so much better.

(Actually there are still a couple of boxes on my side of the bedroom. Those are my 'maybe' boxes, where I'm keeping those last few pieces that I haven't decided whether or not to let go of. Traditional wisdom holds that you should seal your maybe boxes and put them away for a few months, after which time you can declutter them guilt-free, but after reminding myself that I'm an aspiring environmentalist, not an aspiring minimalist, first and foremost, I've left the boxes open so that I can mix my maybe items into my outfits. Some of those items will still have to go - they just don't fit and aren't comfortable. Others might have ended up in the boxes simply because I was desperate to get rid of something, anything, to edge closer to the mythical capsule wardrobe of my fantasy self, and they might deserve another chance.)

I watched a lot more YouTube than usual during this week - I found that it kept me feeling positive about the challenge to hear from others who were doing/are doing a no-buy - it reminded me that I'm doing this to have more money for other things; that I'm not making a sacrifice, just changing my priorities. (I've linked some of my favourite videos at the bottom of this post, as well as some articles that kept me fired up!)

Week Two

Now that things were tidy and manageable I found myself quite naturally focusing on things other than my wardrobe. I'd been enjoying the Shop Your Closet challenge as it has encouraged me to try new combinations and wear those items that didn't see the light of day as much, but I now found myself deviating from the suggested outfits as I had so many ideas for combinations I wanted to try. But after getting dressed in the mornings, I noticed that I wasn't really thinking at all about clothes.

Instead I was cooking more and making some of our household staples from scratch (armed with The Planet-Friendly Kitchen by Karen Edwards). It was too hot to go out or do anything very active, but I made some headway into my To Be Read pile. I made some cash selling a few of my unwanted things through Facebook Marketplace, and I started getting up early to beat the heat so that I could start again with my yoga practice - I have an annoying tendency to stick with it just long enough to notice my strength and flexibility increasing, then slack off long enough to stiffen up again. Much like I do with shopping bans, actually! But not this time, I hope.

What I do with my time when I'm not on a shopping ban baffles me. Surely I can't just be spending hours a day browsing? I thought I'd broken that habit. And yet I suddenly seemed to have a lot more opportunity to do the things I was always too busy for. Odd!

Week Three

I really wasn't sure if I wanted to admit to this on the internet, but I had a horrible moment where I found myself crying behind my sunglasses on a busy high street because I felt horrendously self-conscious and ugly in my summer clothes. In hindsight I think the book I'd been reading that weekend had been a bit triggering for those faint eating disordered thoughts that sometimes still crop up in the back of my brain, and I was feeling a bit vulnerable. I just couldn't think of how to help myself past these painful feelings without either shopping or dieting, but I knew that neither would be helpful, especially not as a knee-jerk response.

I did eventually decide that I probably needed a bit of indulgence and self-care time, a morning routine that wasn't a quick wash-and-go, maybe even a bit of lipstick and a pair of high heels. I've mentioned before that I keep trying to do without 'frivolous style and beauty stuff' in the name of, I dunno, dedicating myself to being a more serious eco warrior (or something like that), and it has helped to see that my favourite sustainability influencers clearly love clothes and make-up and generally looking nice. This overload of crappy feelings really brought home to me that I actually need to carve out that time in my morning routine to let myself feel good about myself. 

I'm wary of coming to depend on make-up to feel acceptable like I did when I was younger, so I'm going to try not to overdo it but instead to find a balance. 

Week Four

Speaking of balance, I know that I've already spent too much in my 'problem' categories this year, so going forward I really don't want to spend too much more in 2022. But this week I started to have some some wobbles about what my next steps are going to be. Realistically, I don't know if a year without shopping is ever going to be a thing for me, and sometimes I wonder if that's even a sensible thing to aim for - this blog post about choosing low-buy over no-buy came into my orbit this week, and the writer makes a good case. 

Although I feel like 'giving myself a gift' every week might be a bit excessive and would definitely push those big holidays further out of reach, I can certainly see that, say, a monthly treat like a new face mask or a book or whatever could actually be really uplifting. But when I tried a low-buy year before, it went horribly wrong! Maybe now that I'm not shopping online so much, I could do it? Being able to still shop somewhat would also mean I could do some thrifting, which I have been keen to do more since I started watching Gittemary's channel.

I have actually started planning another trip with Alice for a few months' time - we're going to take the train to London in January or February, and we're planning to visit the flagship Waterstones bookstore in Piccadilly and browse the shops in Soho, as well as a bit of sightseeing. There's approximately a 0% chance that I will come home empty-handed after noodling around Beyond Retro, and I'm trying to channel my inner Gittemary and not feel guilty as long as the shopping is sustainable and doesn't bust my budget. The thing is that I still kind of want to be this hardline frugal mindful simplicity guru who doesn't care about style, doesn't go nuts for new zero waste and vegan skin care products, doesn't adore clothes, doesn't enjoy shopping as an activity, doesn't like going to the spa - but I'm not that person and I do love all of those things. I feel like it undermines my anticonsumerist Druid credibility, but I can't change myself - I have tried!

I can't decide if my end goal is to quit shopping altogether (except replacement items and the things I need to live!) or just to give it less overall room in my life, an occasional enjoyable activity rather than a complete obsession. People who've done a no-buy year tend to rave about it as life-changing, and I kind of want some of that! But I also want to not always be punishing myself...

This post is getting super long, but at the very tail end of July I went with Dai and the Spud to Valhalla Viking Festival, which I'll talk a bit more about in another post for the sake of brevity. But suffice to say I completed my no-buy successfully despite delicious temptations abounding. It was helpful to remind myself that there will always be something else to want, and I won't actually miss or regret the items I don't buy.

Inspiration:

Quit Fast Fashion in Your Twenties (applicable for any age, and funny as well as lots of smart advice on how to generally shop better!)

I stopped buying clothes and found my personal style

Zero Waste Without Minimalism? 

Un-Fashioning the Future

How I Overcame My Shopping Addiction

Shopping With Your Heart

Recently I went on a shopping trip to Brighton with Alice, one of my best friends. I'd kind of thought that after all these years of learning and experimentation, I'd finally grasped my style and figured out the best approach to shopping for me.

The weekend before, I'd hosted another clothing swap, as requested by a couple of friends. Just like last time, I completely underestimated how much stuff people were going to unearth from their wardrobes and found the entire downstairs of my house basically wallpapered in clothes. I even had a bit of a clear out myself - I've been following the FLYlady method to get my housekeeping under control (I was sceptical at first but so overwhelmed by the housework I would have tried anything, and actually I absolutely love it and can't believe the effect that even a moderately clean and tidy house has had on my self-esteem) and I realised that, with the small storage area I now have, I have too many clothes for it to be manageable. This is a bit difficult for me, as I'm still finding my style and I don't like to get rid of things willy-nilly, but also I want to fit in the space. So I'm kind of gently filtering down and simplifying. My end goal is a capsule wardrobe, but I'm first and foremost an environmentalist so I won't waste things that I can wear and use - it will be a slow process and I'm okay with that. 

After this clear out, it was amazing to look into my (much tidier) wardrobe because all of a sudden I could really see my style. Based on this, I made a Pinterest board, and wrote a very specific and careful list of all the pieces I thought were missing from my wardrobe, which then became my shopping list for the Brighton trip. Elementary, right?

Can you see where this is going yet? The usual reversal, wherein what I think I've learned turns out not to be the lesson at all?

The Brighton trip had been eight months in the planning, as I wanted to have a chilled-out, child-free, girlie day without overspending but also without scarcity mindset. I was really excited to have some time with Alice (and looking forward to the vegan breakfast at Kenny's Rock and Soul Cafe, which is a thing of beauty). Without wishing to get too personal, I've found that since the Goddess blessing and energy healing I had for my thirtieth birthday (an experience I've not talked about at length on this blog as I wrote about it for my book), a lot of my friendships have been undergoing changes as I've been able to open up more and be more myself. 

The friendship I have with Alice is one that's gotten stronger, and as I've mentioned before, it has been a relief to me to open up to her about a lot of what I post about here - obviously I talk to Dai, but realistically he can only maintain so much interest for dissecting the ins and outs of personal style, and this dress over that dress, and other people's outfits and what I like and don't like about them. Alice, however, has a similar relationship to shopping and style, so we were able to discuss at length, and it was an amazing feeling to talk with someone who really, really gets it.

Alice, being Alice, was ready and willing to help me stick to the letter of my shopping list - but, to probably no one's surprise but mine, it didn't work out that way in the end. Alice is starting to really embrace a more colourful and creative style, and she was having an excellent day of good finds and versatile choices. I, armed with my shopping list, was not having so much luck. I managed to tick off a couple of items that matched the list but were also right for me ('chunky knit cardigan - neutral' said my list. Rainbow is a neutral, and I stand by that - it goes with everything). But when I tried on some outfits that met the list criteria and also reflected my Pinterest board, it just didn't feel right. In a blue-grey linen wrap skirt and off-white wrap crop top with ruffle sleeves, I looked grown-up and elegant in a kind of understated boho way, which I thought was what I wanted. But apparently, Pinterest me and real life me are two different people.

"This isn't working," I admitted. "I'm trying to talk myself into buying it. But I think it'll just hang in the wardrobe and never be seen again."

We went onwards. By the time we were exploring the rails of vintage store Beyond Retro, I was feeling really disheartened. The list wasn't working. I could see what suited me, but I wasn't finding what I really loved. Nothing was *ahem* sparking joy. 

I shuffled up beside Alice, who had the most gorgeous pair of trousers in her hands. I'd told myself 'no more funky trousers' (I have a patterned trouser problem) but these were really great. I was exclaiming over the Art Deco-ish print when I suddenly thought to ask, "Wait, did you pick these up for you? I'm so sorry!" Luckily Alice laughed at me - she'd seen that I was getting a little lost in my own head, and had picked up the trousers knowing they were exactly my thing.

Lightbulb moment. Those things I buy over and over - funky trousers, cable knit jumpers, ocean colours with the occasional pop of tie dye or rainbow brights, printed T-shirts - those are my things. I decided to forget about the list and buy the things I loved. The things that were missing from my wardrobe were missing because I won't wear them!

I've definitely learned to choose better. I left behind a t-shirt that really made me laugh but was a horrible, Wish.com-type fabric. I didn't buy yet another pair of paisley harem pants. But as well as my chunky rainbow cardigan and an ocean-blue longline T-shirt with a Thai-inspired print, I bought the Art Deco trousers, another pair with a star print, and a soft green cable knit jumper. And some chunky mismatched rainbow mittens for the winter. And I know, one hundred per cent, that I will wear all of these things to death.

Alice reminded me to shop with my heart, not just my head. Intriguingly, she could pinpoint my style even when I couldn't. It turns out that the right shopping buddy is an invaluable support, and a friend who really gets you, even more so. 

Not only did I have a great day, I stayed within my budget, I bought some things I really love, and I was then able to give away (or put back in my wardrobe) a few more of those 'maybe' pieces, because I understood a little better what I really won't wear. Alice and I had time to dip our toes in the sea, and we've agreed that our next outing will be less intensely shopping-focused and more about having a good time. This one was a win.

The Dark Side of Decluttering

I swing back and forth on the subject of decluttering like a pendulum. This is another area where I've had to accept that my opinions and behaviour might differ from the prevailing tides amongst society in general, and also my friends.

Firstly let me say that I can understand why we declutter. It is certainly easier to maintain and manage a household that is not so filled with miscellaneous stuff. I live with two people who are in general less bothered by mess than I am (one of them is three, and doesn't actually realise that toys all over the floor constitute 'a mess' to other people) - Dai can sit and relax in an untidy room, which I find very difficult nowadays. I'm not a very tidy person, and I don't want to live in a show home, but sometimes things do get embarrassingly out of hand.

The other positive aspect of decluttering is of course mental - when you've had stuff piled up on your surfaces and in your cupboards (and That One Room that you're always going to get around to sorting), it's a huge relief, and greatly satisfying, to let it all go.

However, where I personally get stuck is that I see getting rid of stuff consistently described as positive, always positive. But actually, I don't think that constantly shedding possessions is a positive thing at all. It's a waste. Not of your money - those costs are sunk - but of the materials and energy that went into your stuff (our stuff). Since reading The Story of Stuff, I've really become aware that everything has been made somewhere, using somebody's resources, and it all piles up somewhere else when we, the privileged, decide that owning it has become a burden. The burden doesn't go away. We just push it off onto someone else's shoulders.

I'm not saying you should keep every single thing you've ever bought or been given. But I think we could take far more responsibility when we do get rid of stuff, and be more thoughtful in how we do so, rather than the standard procedure of dump-and-run at the charity shop or tip. The amount of fly-tipping of household goods that occurred during lockdown shows how burdened we feel by our vast array of possessions, but also how little we care for them, for the environment, or for each other. 

I've been following a lot of menders and makers on Instagram, and it's really got me looking at everything as a resource - one worn-out pair of jeans can be used to patch the next pair. I'm really excited about visible mending, it's something I want to get much more into. (I've also been looking at companies who make made-to-measure clothing out of recycled textiles, and giving serious thought to having my childhood character bedsheets lined and made into a crop top and pencil skirt set.) 

My other bugbear about decluttering is that not many people seem to talk about the flip side - buying less. Instead there are loads of people who have an annual 'big clearout', and then seem to immediately set about refilling their houses and closets again. Even if they actually intended to try minimalism. Obviously big business is loving this, but it's not doing anyone else any favours. I do eventually want to own much less stuff, but I've kind of resigned myself to getting there very slowly, when the things I use and cherish eventually wear completely out or break beyond repair. To my mind, buying less is a more important choice - for peace of mind, for sustainability, for putting a middle finger up to corporate capitalism - than finally getting around to clearing out your spare room.

Of course, I have to admit here that I'm biased, because I am very bad at decluttering. Not the actual getting rid of stuff, I'm pretty good at that. Mainly I'm terrible at decluttering because of regret. This year I have asked a friend to post back to me a shirt that I gave her (yes, I felt like a dickhead), and bought a t-shirt on eBay identical to another I'd cleared out. I'm also giving serious thought to buying some of my own clothes back from Thrift+. Which is deeply tragic. I'm pretty sure at this point that jumping aboard the decluttering train is not going to be for me. I get on much better when I accept that my clothes are my clothes, and try to wring every last drop of use and enjoyment from them, than always having half an eye on what I can next discard and replace with something else. Not treating everything as replaceable.

Some of my favourite menders:

@gatherwhatspills

@logoremoval

@mindful_mending

@visiblemend

@wrenbirdmends

@katrinarodabaugh 

Be More Glastonbury

When I told Dai that I'd decided not to run a shopping ban this year, he said, "Oh, good," which told me - in a typically laconic Dai way - that people around me probably thought it was time for me to take a break as well. I'd paused tracking my spends, too, but in the end I decided to try a slightly different approach. Tracking my bills, groceries, and spends out of my control - repairing broken windows, recovering my dad's untaxed car - was getting a bit pointless (and depressing). Those costs were static, or unavoidable. I'd switched my energy suppliers, reduced my grocery costs as much as was feasible - there was nothing more I could do there. Sometimes, your best is all you can do. And tracking the costs of days out with my son was starting to feel like setting an unneeded limit. 

Instead I decided to focus on the spends I still wanted to reduce - clothing and accessories, books, and cosmetics. I knew what I had spent in those categories in 2021, so for 2022 I decided to keep a running total of just those categories with an annual budget in mind, rather than writing down all my purchases every day. That way I could still purchase if I came across something spectacular, and might not feel quite so obsessed. After a few years focusing on what you can't do, it feels refreshing to look at things from a different angle.

And in fact, I had been wondering - was some of my inability to complete a shopping ban due to my starting point? In 2019 when I first started, I had an awful lot of clothes, which I had been buying in a kind of scattergun approach. Following the end of my previous long-term relationship (thirteen years - over half my life, at the point when it ended) I wasn't really sure who I was as a single person. It was surprising how little I knew about what I liked, and what made me happy. Meeting Dai, having our baby, changed my outlook still further even as it rendered a good chunk of that existing wardrobe obsolete. (I've gone from a size 8/10 to a 14/16, and given it's been three years I don't think I'll be getting much smaller.)

In these recent years with Dai I have been able to explore and fine-tune my tastes, interests, likes and dislikes, and now when I choose clothes it's with a much better idea of who I am, what I will wear and how I want to look. The shopping bans, though they may have failed, served a necessary purpose in slowing me down so I could get to know myself. And my shopping behaviour has changed accordingly. I rarely shop online now, my Amazon wishlist has dwindled to just a handful of books, and I don't waste my evenings endlessly browsing for the 'missing pieces'. I've finally been able to clear out some of the things I really didn't like to wear, and this time I know I've made the right choices - I was braced for regret, but instead I felt relief.

A phrase I often use, in the privacy of my own mind, is, "Be more Glastonbury." This a a reminder to myself that it's okay to be a bit weird, not to be everybody's cup of tea, that sometimes an open mind and a sense of wonder is what you need. (I use Glastonbury because it's somewhere I go regularly, but equally you could substitute Stroud, Brighton or any other quirky, colourful and magical place that attracts seekers of the extraordinary.)

Sometimes, I find that when I use this motto it nudges me towards the bright, sparkly, gift-shop aspects of Glastonbury. I think of flowing skirts, jewel-coloured lipsticks, glittery hair extensions, flower crowns and opalescent nails, fairy wings and bumper stickers that say: 'Caution: Faeries and Elves in back seat'. And whilst I can't deny the appeal of this version of Glastonbury, I've spent the last few years learning that, whilst self-love, self-care and self-esteem are essential, image is fun to play with but it isn't everything.

I tend to obsess about Glastonbury when I'm at home, but when I'm there, it can be a bit overwhelming. I'm comparing myself, watching, worried I might miss something, worried I might lose control and buy everything. Sometimes I get a weird dose of imposter syndrome - should I be 'more different'? Other times I feel other people there are playing a part, all show and no substance, and I feel contemptuous about the pre-packaged gifts and glitz - magic for sale, devoid of meaning. 

But there's no denying that reminding myself to 'be more Glastonbury' has been useful. I've slowly opened my mind to new possibilities, started to dress more the way I really want and stopped worrying about what others think, focused more on creativity, spirituality and well-being, and learned to embrace what makes me happy without needing to compare, judge or label it (or myself).

Being more Glastonbury doesn't (always) mean buying trinkets or adorning myself. Glastonbury also means live music, a community fridge, an organic food co-op (named after my matron goddess), sacred sites, art galleries, a non-toxic hair salon, bookshops and libraries, a magical landscape, being connected to the community and the environment. It has temples and abbeys; ancient wells and sacred springs, deep roots in folklore and myth. It's not just a big shiny shopping centre. I have to remind myself to peek beneath the glossy facade. 

The truth is that I don't think I'm ready to complete a year-long shopping ban. Perhaps, if I spent 2022 being more Glastonbury - enjoying getting dressed, buying less, playing music, finishing that clear-out, sticking to a regular practice of meditation and yoga, reading my unread books, spending time in nature, watching the changing seasons, going barefoot in the garden, avoiding mass-produced products, reading poetry, and finally starting on that novel, then by 2023 I might finally be in the right place to do the thing. But by then, would it even be necessary? 

Change, Not Sacrifice

In late December, since my finances were going to hell in a handbasket for reasons largely beyond my control, I decided to stop tracking my daily spends for a while, as it seemed like beating myself up more than anything. Although I'd conceived of this as a temporary break whilst I waited for life to get back on an even keel, I found it quite difficult to get on board with, as though not writing down my purchases would trigger some kind of enormous supermarket sweep that I wouldn't be able to stop. It seemed like giving up.

And in many ways, I think I was giving something up. It had become an almost subconscious belief that if I could just sacrifice enough, my individual actions would counterbalance fossil fuels, banks, governments, the entire underpinnings of capitalist society. As if one person's abstinence from air-freighted asparagus might tip the system.

It isn't that I don't believe individual actions are necessary or valuable. Quite the opposite! I believe that we each need to do what we can in our own lives and in our communities to build resilience, protect and repair our ecosystems, vote with our wallets, and otherwise gently but firmly wrest power from the corporations that hold it. 

However, my family, friends and peace of mind were telling me that since I can't singlehandedly perform miracles, I had to stop looking for the amount of personal inconvenience that would magically fix the climate. I have this kind of romantic ideal of the person I'll be when one day I don't want to shop any more and can afford an organic veg box again, when I live in a fictional idealised community that has a food co-op and a tool library and I can get everywhere I need to go by foot or bike.

The thing is, that's not where I live now, nor is it the life I'm living. Nor does making myself feel guilty about every choice, purchase or action get me there any faster.

I don't really accept the prioritising of personal luxuries over global issues. I'm not going to be cranking the heating up in January so I don't have to wear a jumper or sit with a blanket. It's still my intention to reduce my meat and dairy consumption and try to avoid air-freighted foods. But I do want to feel generally happy and comfortable, so I did finally fill a Thrift+ bag with the clothes I don't wear (or that I force myself to wear) and sent it off. I also finally decided that I'm not doing a shopping ban this year, although my intention is still to reduce my overall spend, especially on clothing, and choose wisely. The way I describe this change in the privacy of my own head is, "I want to dress in a way that makes my heart happy," and I'm working towards that.

I'm also trying to accept that at the moment I am skint, and so I can't always afford - for example - the Ecover washing up liquid instead of the supermarket basic. (I hate knowing it's damaging to aquatic life every time I do the dishes, but I also need to eat. Instead of blaming individuals, I'm learning to blame a) the companies who make these things, and b) the system that makes it more expensive to not harm the planet and imagines that trickledown economics is a viable way to sustain a fair and just society.)

One change I will be making is a move away from Amazon. I know, ironic for an author whose book will be sold there, but I don't like their approach to either resources or people, and I feel there are better places to put my money than in the pockets of billionaires. Honestly, it's something I've been thinking about but putting off for ages now, because the selection is so vast and the prices are so cheap. One of my survey sites pays in Amazon vouchers, which I used as a shopping ban loophole for a time. When they temporarily changed their vouchers, I found myself having to admit that I didn't want to spend actual money on some of the things on my wishlist. Because things were so cheap and plentiful, I was beginning to make poor choices.

Equally, in the same way I don't buy clothes from fast fashion retailers any more, so too do I want to move away from the 'pile it high, sell it cheap' mentality with regards to books. There's still the library, book swaps, charity shops and - for a real treat, as it was when I was growing up - independent book sellers.

Buying an item of clothing has become a more special occasion for me now that I do it less often, and usually in person, from a small retailer, often combined with a visit to an interesting place or event. I'd like to see this same shift with regards to buying other things. It feels like an improvement to my life rather than a sacrifice.

A complete Amazon boycott would be difficult - an awful lot of sites are hosted through their web services, for example. But I can move my custom to other booksellers, at least. 

So my plan at the moment is to change and improve the way I shop and what I spend money on, rather than to stop shopping entirely. Is this a step backwards or forwards? I guess I won't know until I try.

The Reincarnation of Objects

One thing I've become much better at this year is 'shopping my wardrobe'. In my first shopping ban attempt, I lived in fear that I would be invited to a black tie ball or some event with an unusual dress code and have nothing to wear. Two years later, this has still not happened, and I've begun to accept that my existing wardrobe contains something that will tide me over for most occasions, with a little ingenuity. 

Now that I had a better idea of how I wanted to look and dress, I'd been worried that I'd immediately want to go out and buy a bunch of new things. But I was pleasantly surprised by how close I could get to the look I wanted, using items I already had.

I still, on occasion, get rid of the wrong things and end up regretting it later. But I've started to learn how to avoid this, and the answer is simple - get rid of less. I know, I know, this flies in the face of common minimalist logic and the pervasive urge to declutter. Not to mention that we all seem to have those few items lurking in our closets that we know we don't want to wear, but that we are hanging on to, mainly out of guilt (at least, I'm assuming it's not just me). In my case, a pinafore that I thought would be versatile but I never bother to wear because it's pretty boring; a pair of hot pink cargo shorts - I love cargo shorts, but the colour goes with nothing else that I own; a number of oversized t-shirts; and a pair of black and white patterned harem pants I got bored of years ago (plus I have a secret suspicion they make me look a bit frumpy). 

I was just steeling myself to donate some of these items or resell them through Loopster, when I had a sudden brainwave. I have a lot of difficulty finding summer tops that I like, but a plethora of oversized tees - suddenly the answer was obvious. 

Using a top I liked the fit of as a template, I cut down one of my oversized tops and quickly sewed the sides back together. I'd only tacked it loosely to check the fit, but I liked it so much I ended up wearing it that day, before I'd sewn it together properly. I'm really pleased with how it turned out - it's obviously a DIY, but to my mind that's a plus. And I still have more t-shirts I could do this to, if I need more strappy tops next summer.

Apologies for the terrible composition and random things in the background of the photos in this post! I originally took them to send to friends rather than to post here...!

The other three items I decided to dye. This was kind of spur of the moment - I picked up a dyeing kit for £3.99 in Aldi (and still have enough left to dye another three items). This was probably not the most environmentally friendly of dyes, so if I was going to make a habit of dyeing things I would research my options better. But I feel that keeping items working in my wardrobe for longer is better than donating or reselling them, as once they're out of my hands they could end up in landfill, which is what I'm trying to avoid.

I'm thrilled with how these came out! I didn't tie my elastic bands tightly enough so I didn't get clear lines, but I really like the colours and I think I will wear all of these items much more. I'll definitely be less afraid to take the plunge and customise things in future before I think about getting rid of them. I love that I now have some completely unique items for very little cost too.

I had intended a sort of stripy dip dye... It didn't work out but I still like it

Lessons, Thoughts and Inspiration From My 30-Day Reset

Zero Waste Style

Early on in my thirty-day shopping ban which I completed from July-August, YouTube recommended me a video about a woman called Corinne Loperfido, and I found her lifestyle and ideas absolutely fascinating - here's the video for you. 

Clutter and Emotional Labour

I found that I was still thinking a lot about decluttering, which probably had a lot to do with moving to a smaller house. But I couldn't really find a lot to clear out, which I suppose is both good and bad - we like and use the things we have, but we have so much that it feels like everything is just crammed into the house. We have been trying to part with a lot of the Spud's baby stuff, but are finding that we can't give it away, much less sell it. Not sure if the market is saturated, or if people simply don't want second-hand baby things at the moment. In the meantime, I've become very aware of the amount of emotional labour I'm doing around household maintenance, cleaning and tidying. 

In her book Sustainable Minimalism, Stephanie Seferian observes, "Your "mental load", or emotional labor, describes the total sum of responsibilities required for you to manage your household. Women tend to experience heavier mental loads than men, as the never-ending domestic juggling act of organizing, thinking, planning and keeping a home afloat continues to be considered a woman's job." I see this a lot - many of my friends have partners who want to be helpful yet somehow 'can't see mess' (hello, social conditioning!), and certain of my in-laws, jokingly but repeatedly, refuse to defer to Dai about topics from wedding planning to holiday prep and family birthdays, insisting that 'I am in charge' of anything organisational.

Unfortunately for them, I am usually trying to hold on to so much information already - to-do lists, menus, shopping lists, appointments, which food is going off in the fridge, when are we having guests and where are the sheets for the sofa bed, playdates, upcoming celebrations, birthday lists, expiry dates for vouchers, and more - that I'm getting pretty scatty (yes, I do write these things down! But I still have to actually remember and execute the right tasks at the right time, which requires brainal resources (that's definitely a real word)) and therefore I'm extremely firm about which jobs I have delegated to Dai, and will not be budged. This month, without Etsy to distract me, I couldn't help but notice that the household chaos - and my inability to do much about it singlehandedly - was driving me up the wall, and I found myself in tearful fury over a crisp packet that had not managed to migrate to the bin under its own steam.

My urge to declutter (or go live la vida Loperfido in a van) probably had more to do with this sense of overwhelm than anything else. There is in fact an entire book on the subject of women's emotional labour, Fed Up by Gemma Hartley, but to be honest I'm frightened to read it. Even reading the Kindle sample made me cringe. (Dai, I should add, is generally very thoughtful and decent to live with, and happily does his share of the housework, but works very long hours, which is why two months after moving house we were still living almost entirely out of boxes.)

My vague hope is that, whilst I'll probably never be a minimalist, if I can at least slow the influx of new things into our house, as things wear out and/or are outgrown and given away, we will eventually reach some kind of equilibrium. Or at least will avoid being buried under a tower of books, clothes and toys.

Environmentalism, Joy and Style

The other thing that kept coming up for me during this month was about clothing and style, which of course related back to why I had decided to try to quit shopping in the first place, in 2019. I realised that, although my spending on clothing had been fairly high since I stopped this year's attempted low-buy (although still low by my previous standards - maybe three items of clothing a month, predominantly second-hand from eBay, but also from small businesses and indie designers in physical shops and on Etsy), I'd been making much better choices and was really loving what I had. I still wouldn't be able to put a label on my style, but I had a much better idea of what I would wear - and better yet, what I enjoyed wearing, what I would be excited to put on in the morning.

Corinne Loperfido's video reminded me that it's possible to care deeply about the environment and still have personal style. I'm not sure why I tend to fall on the side of sackcloth and ashes, but this habit I fall into of wearing baggy, stained old clothing in the name of sustainability is frankly a bit depressing. Throughout the month, happily, I learned to shop my wardrobe and put together outfits that I enjoyed wearing, without constantly craving an influx of the new. And, thankfully, without falling once again into the hair-shirt-frump trap.

Don't get me wrong - eco anxiety is a logical, sane reaction to the state we're in, and conscious consumerism isn't a magic bullet for the ills of the fashion industry. I know that the only way forward for us as a society is to buy and produce less. But I noticed as well that this kind of joyless, performative environmentalism had found its way into other aspects of my life. I don't, obviously, mean choices like reusing the bath water to water the garden, or using cloth rags instead of paper towels - in my view these are just sensible things that should be totally normal (and are for many people). I mean things like... not buying a drink if I'd forgotten my reusable bottle, and ending up with a pounding headache. I realise that in the long run we will all have to make changes and, yes, sacrifices if we want to actually survive the climate emergency, but in the meantime we still live in a consumer society, and me getting heatstroke saves nothing and helps no one. 

Learning To Trust Myself

Also on the topic of style, this month I started seeking out and reading more blogs. I have been working on a book that grew largely out of this blog, so I wanted to look for ideas for new blog content so that I could keep posting without reproducing my entire book - it would be nice if there were some surprises (although there is some stuff I'd love to tell you!). Having devoted a good chunk of time to blogging previously, I was wary of falling back down the rabbit hole, but it was really exciting to see what's out there now and how the blogosphere has grown and changed.

Most of all, I was extremely excited to see women in their 30s, 40s and up to their 60s and beyond really embracing style - and I don't mean cookie cutter fashion, I mean women who are absolutely doing their own thing and looking phenomenal. I realised (again) that I've been trying so hard not to obsess over my appearance that I've essentially become invisible; I'm nervous of taking risks or drawing attention to myself, I feel guilty for spending time on my appearance, and - I'll admit it - there's a little voice that says "you're being selfish... You're a mum now...you've put on too much weight," and worst of all "you're too old." Well, clearly not.

I also found some old photos from yet another blog I used to have on the go, from a time when I felt absolutely the worst about the way I dressed - I remember feeling stressed and anxious all the time, doubting my ability to put an outfit together, spending literally entire days on Pinterest trying to find the secret keys to good style... And now I want to shake myself and scream with frustration, because it turns out that I looked great (IMO). This is exactly the kind of thing I would like to be wearing now. Except I gradually replaced all my funkier clothes with bland, anodyne stuff, a change which I can almost directly pinpoint to a time in my life which included a bad online experience and the end of my previous long-term relationship, because I was frightened I wouldn't be able to make my way alone in the world and meet new people if I was Openly Weird.

I will forever regret parting with this t-shirt instead of mending it. Still have the boots, though

This blue bob was epic. And extremely blue

I should have trusted my own opinions and ideas, as it turns out I had my own sense of style and aesthetics all along - I just let it get eroded by fearfulness. But it's never too late, and I can start from where I am with what I have, and just learn how to be me again.

Decluttering Regret and Charity Shop Rules

I mentioned once before that my rusty 'joy antennae' have meant that when I have had clearouts in the past I've gotten rid of the wrong things. My biggest regret in particular is letting go of a pair of skirts I bought ten-years-ish ago in a seaside hippie shop called Rainbow's End. They were by a brand called Dark Star, and they were both tulle maxi skirts, made from dozens and dozens of overlapping layers like petals. One was in all the colours of the rainbow with raw edges, the other was in my favourite rich purples, blues and indigo, and every 'petal' had a lace trim. They were, hands down, the most beautiful garments I'd ever seen in my life.

I have trawled eBay ever since I got rid of them hoping to find replacements, but so far no joy. Whoever bought them from the charity shop I donated them to is a lucky duck. I've even been back to Rainbow's End and asked about them, but while they had skirts that were sort of similar they weren't half as gorgeous. (I haven't given up, though! I'll check every time I'm in that neck of the woods.)

Why did I get rid of them? Fear. Shame. A desire to conform. After my teens and early twenties had been characterised by wild and unconventional clothing choices, I hit an awkward stage after some online bullying and felt like people were judging me everywhere I went. I adopted a palette of sensible neutrals and started shopping in the 'trendy' shops, trying to blend in with everyone else. 

All my strange and colourful clothes went to the charity shops, except my stompy goth boots and one velvet medieval gown I couldn't bear to part with (for which I am now extremely grateful - I intend wearing it on my 30th birthday. It has been worn in such diverse places as a goth night in York and a crazy golf course in Kent). I've forgotten most of the other garments that disappeared in this first big purge - most of them wouldn't fit me now anyway - but I bitterly regret ever parting with my beautiful faerie skirts!

In mid-April, my hunt for replacement skirts led to a bit of an eBay splurge. I hadn't bought on eBay for years other than essential items for the Spud, but within a few days I became the proud owner of: a steampunk-ish pinstriped waistcoat (for the bargain price of 99p!); a purple satin bullet bra, vintage but pristine (a fiver); a tie-dye fishtail skirt in shades of blue with a barbed wire motif (£7.99); a stunning purple and black velvet and lace skirt with pixie-esque pointed layers and mirrored embroidery (£22.50); and a tiered tulle skirt in blue, indigo and green (similar-ish to my long lost Dark Star skirts but not quite as exquisite. £14.50). 

I realised I was getting carried away one night when I was still on eBay at one a.m. (those shopaholic tendencies just don't die). I was starting back as a volunteer at the charity shop the following weekend, and my sudden enthusiasm for second-hand clothes made me a bit nervous. It was much more sustainable than my previous shopping habits, but it wasn't exactly free. However, at least I now had a handful of exciting and unusual pieces to mix with my more mundane t-shirts, jeans and jumpers. But before returning to the charity shop I knew I was going to have to set myself some limits... and crucially, actually stick to them.

Based on my previous stint as a charity shop staff member, I set myself the following rules:

Thou Shalt Not Buy Anything Which Doesn't Make You Go "Wow"

(otherwise you end up with a wardrobe full of "all right"s and "nice enough"s, which is one thing if you're really short on clothes but a bit unhelpful if you're me and want to avoid repeating the declutter/refill cycle for another ten years)

Thou Shalt Not Buy Anything Which Doesn't Go With What You Already Have

(again, been down this road before, and it's super annoying. If it doesn't work with my existing favourites it's essentially pointless. No garment can stand alone)

Thou Shalt Not Spend Silly Money

(the category of 'silly money' varies depending on what the item is - e.g. I have enough t-shirts that any money spent on t-shirts is 'silly' - what else is going on that month, and whether the money could be better spent. For example, a pair of walking boots or a nice lightweight summer top would be really useful for me, but any more tie-dye anythings borders on excessive and sets me back a bit further from being able to do the courses I'm interested in.)

I've told myself since my teens that it didn't matter what mistakes I made with regards to personal style in my twenties, because no one really knows themselves when they are young, and through all my experimentation I would have my shit together by the time I hit thirty. 

Well, I'm staring down the barrel of that date now, and though it's a little bit more complex than 'ta-da, I am now a finished person', it seems I wasn't actually too far off with that estimation. I've rediscovered some of the confidence I used to have with regards to clothes and I no longer worry about other people's opinions of my outfits, but I've also learned more about what I like and will actually wear rather than just buying stuff 'because it's different'. And I'm happy that I've learned to source things second-hand (with a very occasional item new from small ethical and sustainable brands)  - it means that my wardrobe won't be cookie cutter, but it's also more responsible and less wasteful. 

I don't think I can commit to not buying anything at all at the charity shop, because I know from experience that all kinds of gorgeous things will turn up right under my nose. (And I suck at resisting a bargain, as recently discovered when I got an email to say that Dresden Dolls merchandise was up to 80% off. I managed to snag an art nouveau-style  t-shirt before they sold out, with equal parts guilt - another black band tee - and glee - a DOLLS black band tee!) I find it amazing how some people just... stop shopping. Even after two years of analysing and navel-gazing, I still struggle. Honestly, I've considered professional help! I don't expect perfection, but it's so frustrating, and at times I feel spoiled, greedy, embarrassed, entitled.

But I can do my best not to overdo it, and make the right choices. Right now, my new eBay items seem to have plugged the obvious wardrobe gaps (a waistcoat for layering and because waistcoats are funky, some long skirts for the summer), so I can't think what might tempt me to stray! But I know there will be something!

Just please, keep your fingers crossed for me that a pair of rainbow layered Dark Star faerie skirts come my way.

My Skin is Clear, My Crops Are Thriving: Weapons Against Overshopping

Now that I'm actually, finally, after two years (as of last week; I started my original shopping ban on May 14th 2019) getting a handle on my shopping habit, it seems only fair to share those things that help. What works for me personally is that I have built these ideas into my life as habits, and over time they have worn away the sharp poky edges of my desperate wants and desires, so I don't feel that nagging urge to buy, buy, buy in the back of my brain, like an itchy label. 

This is similar to my tips and tricks post of yesteryear, but I feel like I wrote that when I was a level one nonshopper, white-knuckling through each day and still slipping up every other week. Now I have levelled up, and although I still have a LONG way to go before I achieve the monk-like aura of nonconsumerism that I dream of, I no longer feel like I'm an irritating email away from slipping off the spending cliff all the time. Simply put, I've learned better ways of dealing with at least some of the underlying unmet needs - a brief selection: insecurity and lack of self-esteem, need for approval, self-expression, need to be recognised as an amazing limited edition snowflake with excellent taste in music, desire for a sense of belonging - which were fuelling my overshopping habit.

Some of those upgraded coping mechanisms are as follows:

1. Nature

My biggest weapon against overshopping is spending time outdoors. As the Spud has gotten older, we've increased the amount of time we spend outside from a begrudging half hour walk with the pram to as much as six hours walking around and playing at the park, and a minimum of an hour, rain or shine. In lockdown we took a daily walk around our local nature reserve and spent time tending our herbs and vegetables in the garden.

I don't always feel like dragging myself outside, but the Spud is insistent, and it makes me feel better about plonking him in front of Tractor Ted while I take a breather from time to time. And once I get out there, even if it's grey, mizzling and blowing a gale, after half an hour or so I generally morph into Annoying Nature Lady, getting excited about fluffy moss and interesting lichen. I even asked for a birdwatching guidebook for my last birthday (who am I?). 

One thing I know is that the more time I spend outdoors - preferably in nature, but a trek to the post office will do in a pinch - the calmer and more content I feel. I usually leave my phone at home too, which frustrates some of my relatives to no end but does me the world of good. It was initially a wrench to go out gadgetless, but in the year or so I've been going phoneless nothing dire has happened and everyone has largely gotten used to the fact I'll get back to them when I'm ready. 

For best results, as my two-year-old has taught me, you need to actually interact with the nature - squelch in the mud, paddle in the river, listen to the birdsong. Mooching about with your eyes on Facebook and your headphones in won't actually do you any good. Also, don't forget to bring snacks. I have learned to always take along a peanut butter sandwich as we're always out longer than I expect!

This has evolved into a newfound love of the outdoors, and is probably the most I've spent time outside since I was a child myself. I've got tan lines on my feet, my complexion is about as good as it's ever been (except for those three weeks after giving birth when I had the clear, plump, glowing skin of a baby angel), and I feel better in myself, physically and mentally. We've also developed an interest in foraging, and can be found in the hedgerows harvesting apples, blackberries, elderflower and sweet chestnuts throughout the summer and autumn. 

I realise not everyone has the ability to access nature as we are lucky enough to do; fresh air, natural light, a view of the sunset and a bit of birdsong go a long way. I think the reason this helps is that it reminds me I'm one tiny part of a huge and intricate web - it really puts my worries about clothes and make-up and whatever into perspective. It also reminds me how incredible everything is. You just don't get that sense of awe and wonder in TK Maxx. 

2. Creative living

Inspired by books such as Timeless Simplicity, Radical Homemakers and Big Magic, I eventually realised that creativity isn't just about being An Artist, Capital-A, or A Writer, Capital-W, but is a way of living. It's a way of living that in particular is directly antithetical to constant, demanding consumption, as the rigours and stimulation of overshopping and excessive screen time seem to wither imagination - and happily, vice versa.

Living a creative life will mean something different to every person, but it requires time, care and attention, like a garden (it could be gardening). It could be home cooking, growing veg, painting, acting, figure skating, quilting, dance, playing the trombone, zine making, fashion design, keeping a beautiful home, soapmaking... All the unnecessary but fulfilling ways that humans have made ordinary life into something beautiful and satisfying. 

I know a person who does creative things all the time but describes herself as "not creative". Yet this lady creates beautiful outfits and colourful make-up looks every day, writes poems, and once presented me with a stunning hand-painted glass bowl. She also raised children, which takes A LOT of creativity. We have developed some strange ideas about what creativity actually is, and there are probably a lot of people shutting themselves off from various forms of self-expression because someone told them they weren't artistic, or talented, or 'being realistic', or were wasting time. 

I recently read a blog post about everyday creativity which really struck a chord for me and also expresses similar thoughts to the books I've mentioned above. Druid and author Nimue Brown says, "I’ve been glad to see memes doing the rounds pointing out that singing, dancing, making art and so forth used to just be things people did. In having turned that into professions, and in having industrialised our lives, we’ve lost a lot of that. Obviously I’m in favour of there being space for creative professionals, but I feel very strongly that creativity should be for everyone, all the time.

"We’ve traded our freedom to create for convenience."

It doesn't have to be complicated and you don't have to try to make a living from it. Over the last couple of years I have tried my hand at knitting, crochet, cooking, baking, singing (purely for pleasure, as I am tuneless), jive dancing, playing guitar and pennywhistle, and making my own house cleaning and beauty products. I also want to pick my fiction writing and drawing back up - two things I let drop when I realised I wasn't going to make my fortune from them - start a veg patch and take a pottery class. I want to fill my life with the richness of doing, even if I'm not very good at everything I turn my hand to, rather than spending my days passively consuming what other people have made.

3. Gratitude

I hate admitting to being the sort of person who writes gratitude lists, but the books I was reading - too many to ignore - kept recommending the practice and eventually I had to give it a go. It stands to reason that appreciating all that we have, even the smallest of things and the most ephemeral of moments, will stop us fixating on what we don't have. However I found writing a structured list really annoying, so when I write my journal each evening I just take care to note down a couple of things that were good about my day, from an interesting sky to a nice cup of tea, my toddler's reaction to a fart or a hilarious Amazon review (current fave: "this book reads like a tumble in the moss at low gravity").

4. Savouring

I did eventually realise that my frantic brand of decluttering had cleared my physical space but done nothing for my state of mind. It was time to make a serious effort to slow down and stop rushing from one task to another. I had been spurred on by the high I get from clearing stuff out, to the extent that I was often up at night, racking my brains to see what I might be able to get rid of next (I suspect that this is not terribly healthy). 

So once I'd purged the low-hanging fruit (because there really is no point keeping CDs you don't want to listen to), I decided to put the brakes on and enjoy what I had left, rather than keep forcing myself to find reasons to get rid of more. This turned out to be a brilliant idea. From putting one of my remaining CDs on in the morning to digging out my old vinyl and asking my dad to repair my record player, to making the effort to actually use one of the lipsticks I'd decided to keep, the acts themselves were fun and uplifting, and engaging with my possessions instead of just having them hanging around waiting to eventually be decluttered increased their value to me. It also made me slow right down and savour what I was doing. Appreciating - and using - what you have is key to not continually wanting more. 

5. Authenticity

My word for this year! A simple way to feel better in your own skin is to be true to yourself. I didn't find it as easy as it sounds, but through baby steps - learning to say 'no', speaking my mind rather than hiding my feelings, letting go of clothes I didn't really feel comfortable wearing - I found that striving to be more authentic did wonders for my self-esteem.

6. Randomness

I did, however, have to learn to strike a balance between authenticity and openness. For example, I was recently given a pair of wellies as a gift from a much-loved family member. However, they were leopard print, which I dislike. Whilst a focus on curating my perfect wardrobe, which I had considered part of 'being authentic', led me to worry about the gift and think about asking for an exchange, I eventually realised that even though these wellies weren't my 'dream wellies', they were good quality, they fit beautifully, and were chosen by someone who cares about me a lot. And who obviously thinks I'm more glamorous than I actually am, which is quite complimentary. I started to feel quite fond of the wellies, looking at them in this light, and in the end I was happy to wear them and pleased that I hadn't returned them. In this case, I was perhaps striving for an over-controlled idea of perfection, instead of authenticity, and being open to a little randomness, a little imperfection, made me happier and more appreciative.

Likewise, as I have mentioned previously, a free library book from a random selection can be more of a delight than you might find on Amazon and its careful algorithm, simply because it's a bit different and new and unexpected. Choosing not to over-curate and remembering to leave space open for surprises has brought me great happiness, and allowed me to 'make do' without feeling in the least bit deprived.

How To Tell If the Universe Hates Your Minimalist Wardrobe

May 2020 marked the end of my first attempted shopping ban. Frankly I was surprised I'd remained interested and motivated for a whole year - including keeping notes in my journal every day! 

The funny thing is, I'm not sure that at this point I was any more secure in terms of 'personal style' than I had been at the beginning. But I was happier, calmer, gradually becoming more creative, and much better with money. I still had quite some way to go, granted, but I spent some time just feeling proud of myself and how far I'd come. I'd learned not only to live within my means but to enjoy it and to thrive.

At the beginning of May, I was fed up with my endless routine of thinking (and feeling bad) about my clothes - keep, go, mend, donate, bag up, unbag, test, try, restyle, repeat til fade. It was all congealing into a major mound of annoyance and decision fatigue and I wanted a break from dealing with it for a while. So I packed away the vast majority of my wardrobe - around 200 items at the time - and embarked on Project 333, wherein you wear only 33 items for 3 months.

Yet on day one of my 33-item wardrobe experiment, the Spud climbed into my lap and joggled my arm at an inopportune moment, spilling coffee down the front of my hoodie. On day two, I got my first period in eighteen months, which turned several of my potential bottom-half garments into uncomfortable prospects. 

On day three, my comparison fever reared its ugly head for the first time in months after encountering a well-dressed older woman with quirky, colourful style. I ended up on Pinterest, that hellhole, spent ages on it, then got bored and cross and remembered why I'm great the way I am. 

On day four, I was about convinced that the universe was trying to tell me something when a bird shat on my cardigan. 

I gave up and unpacked the rest of my wardrobe. You can't argue with a message like that.

My comparison stumbling block had got me thinking. I'd been feeling a bit worried because I didn't seem to know exactly what I like any more. My tastes had shifted without my noticing somewhere along the line, perhaps as part of getting older. But I was hoping that as I go along, curating - to use one of the media buzzwords of the moment - and carefully accumulating the right things and discarding the excess, it will all eventually come together. It doesn't matter if I can't make sense of it all right now - as long as I stay open, authentic and notice my honest feelings about stuff (check out that band regardless of whether you historically listen to that genre, read that book if it excites you even if it's not 'relevant', don't watch the movie that you're really not interested in even though everyone else is raving about it, if you never ever wear those shoes don't keep them), I'll get there. It's not as though I have to sum it all up and put a label on it (or, heaven forbid, a hashtag). 

I just hate uncertainty and change. I want everything about me to be static, finished and complete. But that's not the way it works. We grow and learn, change our perspectives and opinions, open up to new possibilities. I need to stop trying to BE something, accept who I am and let it ebb and flow organically - instead of trying to force it into a shape so I can define it.

It was as though I couldn't stop thinking about THINGS in one form or another - how many, how few, how do they define me, what should I own, what should I own next, tomorrow, next week, next year?

I came across a couple of quotes from Kyle Chaka's book The Longing For Less that held resonance for me: "One act of will is to erase everything that's already around you, washing it clean and starting again so that the only things left are those you choose, which is the standard practice of minimalism. This is a simple way to build a sense of self. You are what you include... But favouring control leaves no room for surprises. A more difficult, perhaps more deeply satisfying method is to embrace contingency and randomness, accepting that life is a compromise between what exists and what you want, and beauty is found not by imposition but through an absence of control."

 And, "Minimalism is thus a kind of last resort. When we can't control our material security or life path, the only possibility left is to lower our expectations to the point where they're easier to achieve." 

Over the next year, I decided that I wanted to knuckle down with staying off the internet - or at least, those bits of it that seem to muddle my sense of self and diminish my imagination - and tackle those lingering shopping behaviours, such as browsing for things to buy 'in future'. I don't need to know right now what exact jeans I will buy when my current ones wear out!

In the end, I quit Project 333 because I wanted to make use of what I have, not just jettison stuff to meet an arbitrary goal of minimalism (you don't actually get rid of the rest of your stuff to do 333, but I was looking for things I could cast off). I agree with the principle of simplicity, but I don't think that the way to get there is to focus harder on my stuff.

In May, I also spent a bit of time looking at the Humans of New York website. It reminds me that what I'm wearing is the least interesting thing about me, and provides a good antidote to comparison thinking. Everyone's story is unique, each one worthwhile.

Spending Out and Sparking Joy: Why Frugality Isn't Always the Answer

The Eco Thrift Crusade

My journey to quit overshopping led me, for a while, to become really averse to spending money at all. Developing this new, thrifty mindset was what allowed me to repair my finances, build up some savings, plan some holidays (still hoping I might get to actually take some of them... Stupid COVID...) and start excavating my life from under the 24/7 shopping, Instagramming and more shopping that had dominated for the past decade or so.

However, my tendency towards obsession (not always a bad thing; I've written some secret fanfic I'm pretty proud of) tipped me a little too far into the world of frugality. For a while last year I was wearing shoes that hurt my feet, because they weren't completely worn out yet; paranoid about getting rid of anything that 'might come in handy one day', which sounds fairly logical until you realise it included wearing clothes I actively disliked and saving every single glass jar that entered our home; and keeping my hair in a style I didn't like because it was more low-maintenance. These things might have been saving a few bob here and there, but they were also making me feel pretty damn fed up.

Some of the tips I picked up on my Eco Thrift Crusade were great. Vinegar cleans everything and won't poison my child when he randomly licks stuff. Old baby vests with questionable food stains are fine for cleaning rags. I really do want to do my bit for the planet. But feeling drudgelike and glum with lank hair and ill-fitting clothes and shoes hardly made me an inspiring poster girl for the 'eco life'. I waffled between feeling smug for how "anticonsumerist" I was now, and deeply uncomfortable when bumping into an old friend in town knowing I looked, well, a bit rough.

I've always admired people who don't care much about their appearance - I like a bit of devil-may-care, and I think it's important to have more going on in your life than just thinking about your looks. But even people of my acquaintance who don't care much about clothes will buy things a) that they actually like, and b) that fit comfortably.

The Happiness Project

I felt a shock of recognition when I read Gretchen Rubin's book The Happiness Project. Talking about the idea of 'spending out', Gretchen says, "I tend to cling to things - to stuff, to ideas. There is a preppy wabi-sabi to soft, faded khakis and cotton shirts, but it's not nice to be surrounded by things that are worn out or stained or used up. [...] I wanted to stop worrying about keeping score and profit and loss. I wanted to spend out." 

Gretchen stops saving things "for another day" - stationery, creative ideas, unworn clothes - and starts making use of them. She also learns to 'indulge in a modest splurge' on things that bring her happiness (in her case, a set of embossed hardback books from a favourite author), and spend money on 'needful things', instead of her habitual underbuying: "I delay making purchases or buy as little as possible. I often feel stressed because I don't have the things I need. I'm surrounded with things that are shabby, don't work, or aren't exactly suitable." As someone prone to repairing (or bodging) with whatever I have to hand, I recognised myself so much in this. 

Ironic, for an overshopper, but that's one of the curses of a shopping problem - I have historically been more likely to buy something frivolous (six inch heels, Gothic lace veils, PVC corsets, lacy parasols, collectable dolls, soft toys) and go without practical things I actually need (Welly boots, orthopaedic insoles, a winter coat). My inner overshopper has no sense of priorities, hence that time I bought a ton of frilly underwear at a mall and then realised I couldn't afford a) food or b) a train home. In my defense I think I was about eighteen. I have been known to go without medical prescriptions and dental appointments because I can't afford them, but still buy new books and clothes. So yes, I definitely bodge repairs around the house, when really I ought to buy replacement items or pay to get things properly fixed.

Gretchen treats herself to some new shirts that she actually wants to wear, and some new pens for work. She notes in the same chapter that overbuying can easily lead to the 'hedonic adaptation' effect, where we need to spend more and more to get the same good feelings, and that more of something isn't always better, but it was interesting to me to be reminded that spending money, even on something technically frivolous or non-essential, isn't necessarily bad (probably not the six inch heels that I never wore, or frilly knicks instead of food though). Gretchen learned to use her money in ways that brought happiness and value into her life, rather than frittering it or hoarding it like Scrooge. (She also decided that cutting out one category of spending altogether - office supplies - would cut out a source of anxiety from her life, which is rather like how I ended up doing a shopping ban in the first place.)

So rather than guard every last penny at all costs, I've resolved to spend out. Sometimes this means hiring a window cleaner or paying for dental treatment (practical!). Sometimes it means a magazine subscription or natural hair care product (comparatively frivolous!). It requires more thinking about than a blanket decision not to buy anything, but I find I quite enjoy pondering what potential purchase will bring me the most joy and lasting value. 

Spark Joy

I've enjoyed Marie Kondo's famous tidying books often, although you'd never know it from the state of my house! But by far my favourite is Spark Joy. It's not just about tidying, storing or decluttering, though it touches on all of those things. Mainly, as the title suggests, it's about joy - how to decide which of the things you own bring you joy, and how to maximise the pleasure you get from them (hint: don't bury them under other stuff that you don't really like much, and actually use them). 

Now, I have tried to do the full KonMari on many occasions, and whilst I've succeeded in getting rid of vast amounts of stuff, it's never 'stuck', and I always end up back at square one. I believe this is for two reasons: firstly, because I've never tackled my overshopping, so new stuff merely replaces the old stuff, and secondly, because my joy antennae are a bit rusty, so I don't necessarily keep or let go of the right things. 

However, what Spark Joy has provided me at this stage of the game is permission to let go. After my previous obsessive decluttering, I'd been so fearful of being wasteful that I was hanging on to just about everything. Which, in a backwards way, was making me feel like I always needed more. I couldn't see how many really great clothes I had, because every day I was dredging through piles of things that were mediocre. As soon as the mediocre was cleared out of the way - which I have been doing in dribs and drabs rather than the approved KonMari method, but that's life with a toddler - I suddenly had an abundant wardrobe of nice things. By focusing on joy, I was able to clear out what I didn't want - much more gently, not another decluttering frenzy, and cutting myself a lot of slack (not wanting holey leggings filling up my drawers doesn't make me an instant minimalist!) - and savour what was left. 

It was also a bit of a newsflash to me that I actually deserve to take pleasure in the things I have around me. Just as I'd stopped doing my hair and nails out of eco guilt and rejection of 'vanity', I'd also forgotten somehow that I am allowed to want a nice house and a wardrobe of things I actually like. The panacea for overshopping isn't asceticism. I was inflicting a weird sort of penance on myself, and yeah, okay, my shopping behaviour has at times been selfish and greedy, but being a martyr didn't exactly improve the situation.

As with spending out, choosing things that spark joy involves a little thought. For example, in January I really liked a magenta faux fur messenger bag, but plus shipping and taxes, it was going to cost a whopping £95, which I just couldn't justify (I realise people spend a lot more than that on bags, but I've never been a Balenciaga or an Hermes girl, which is just as well as my budget wouldn't stretch). Although I liked the bag so it would in a sense 'bring joy', I knew I'd feel guilty for spending that much on, essentially, a novelty bag, when for half the price I could subscribe to my favourite magazine for a year and get a seasonal dose of magic, beauty and whimsy, or for £80 take a twelve-month personal development course from one of my favourite authors. The joy of the bag would be outweighed by the terrors of sticky baby hands, and feeling crappy about the spend (although I haven't yet ruled out buying the same faux fur on eBay - £30 - and knocking up my own knockoff). Whereas the magazine subscription would bring joy and value over and over.

So I have learned that buying things isn't automatically bad, and neither is getting rid of them, but I need to recognise the difference between true joy and the temporary thrill of an exciting purchase. I also need to continue becoming aware of my feelings about the things I own - it's no good forcing myself to wear things I feel horrible in, life's too short.

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!