Valhalla: A Walk Through Fire

At the very tail end of July, I went with Dai and the Spud to Valhalla Viking Festival, just for a day. Whilst booking the tickets, I'd done something slightly out of character and signed myself up to take part in a firewalking ceremony, which I then proceeded to be incredibly nervous about for the next few months. It felt like the next chapter in a series of occurrences which had started with my energy healing at Goddess House, as well as being something I could never have done even as recently as a year ago. I am very afraid of fire, but I am also devoted to a Goddess of the Forge, and I decided to place myself on her anvil and let her shape me as she would.

The festival itself was tremendous. The day was sunny and warm, and the location was fantastic. It was too hot for me to wear the slightly more historically-accurate outfit I'd originally planned, so I simply wore my favourite dungarees and kicked off my shoes to walk barefoot on the dusty grass. Our first priority was lunch; I enjoyed delicious fresh pizza in the shade of the woodland temple while the boys shared a burger. This was idyllic in itself - there were lights strung between the branches in the shade of the trees, which we could just see from where we sat on the outside, and when we finished our meal and ventured into the hushed interior, we discovered that the cardinal directions were marked by carved wooden statues of Norse gods and goddesses. 

Dai and the Spud quickly went off to play with axes while I had a peruse of the stalls. Some necklaces of amber beads caught my eye, but I tore myself away and we met up in the mead hall for some live folk music. The Spud wanted to get as close to the stage as possible to look at the instruments.

The day passed in a similarly laid-back manner. The people-watching was on point, the atmosphere was friendly. We spent a magical hour listening to a storyteller in the lantern-strung woodlands, and even the lively Spud was captivated by his tales of gods, giants, shapeshifters and trolls. I didn't break my no-buy; despite the abundance of stalls, there was so much to see and do that consumption didn't feel like a necessary entertainment.

Then at last the time came to proceed to the firewalking arena. There were about a hundred people taking part that day, and I felt a tremor of anxiety as I left Dai and the Spud outside the circle, watching. 

A sacred space was defined; as an Earth sign, I was told to find myself a space in the North quadrant. I had been seated a few moments, when a blue-haired elfin person in a linen tunic, Viking leg wraps and hand-forged spoon earrings sat down beside me with a friendly smile. We soon got to talking, and I forgot to be nervous. This was Jenna, who had come all the way from Sydney for the festival. Soon I also met Amelie, a striking presence in a long green dress and impressive armour, who bounced over to us exclaiming, "I love both your clothes!", and in between helping to build the fire, we chatted about cosplay, our favourite fantasy authors, and all kinds of other things.

I had intended to keep myself to myself, anticipating a meditative and solitary experience. But I figured that when the universe hands you kindred spirits during something you've built up in your head as a pivotal moment in your story, you should probably take the hint. 

Once the fire was lit, a circle was cast, and the ceremony began. During the calling of the quarters I could already feel the heat of the flames on my back. As the fire roared, we began by walking around the circle and acknowledging every person there, with a nod, a hello, a handshake, even a hug. I hadn't anticipated hugging strangers as part of my experience that day, but found myself surprisingly open to it. 

The next step was something that I had been particularly worried about for a while after seeing it mentioned online - an arrow-breaking ceremony. As the arrows were handed out we were encouraged to try to bend them between our palms - well, all that happened was that I got sore palms. We had the option to sit out, and honestly I did give it a thought, as I was pretty convinced I would be the one person who couldn't break my arrow, but in the end I stood in the queue with Jenna and Amelie.

At first, with the point of the arrow against the hollow at the base of my throat, I pushed as hard as I could, and it wouldn't bend, never mind break. I resigned myself, took one more deep breath, anticipated serious injury or at least great embarrassment, and walked into the damn arrow as hard as I could. I heard the snap like a gunshot before I registered what had happened.

The lead instructor recovered a piece of my splintered arrow from near the fire, and as he handed it to me, he said quietly, "That was powerful."

The firewalk.

After the arrow, I wasn't afraid. In fact I surprised myself by stepping forwards when they called for someone to go first, and in the end I was the second to set out across 600-degree coals. 

I'm not going to tell you too much about the sensation, in case you ever have the chance to experience it for yourself. The coolness of the dampened grass on the other side was almost startling. I felt like I could take on anything, anything at all.

They laid down more coals, made the pathway longer and wider. Jenna, Amelia and I queued together again and walked across on each other's heels, casting handfuls of oats into the still-burning fire as an offering.

On the third walk, we were invited to make our offerings to a lost loved one. My father's death still felt very recent. I made my offering to the fire, then had to step back and get my tears in check. We had been asked to be silent at this point, so I couldn't explain to my new friends why I was crying. They each offered me a hand, and we strode out on the longest walk yet, together. On the other side of the smouldering coals they both gave me a hug. Two kind, beautiful souls whom I was so grateful to meet. 

After the circle was closed, I went to find the Spud and Dai, and get a much-needed drink of water. The soles of my feet were peppered with black marks, but undamaged.

As someone whose thoughts recently have been very much concerned with concepts like personal style, I also had some unique takeaways from this experience and the day as a whole that may or may not resonate for anyone else.

Firstly, the variety of styles and goods for sale I saw throughout the day reminded me that I like and appreciate a lot of different things, which is why I have so much difficulty minimising my wardrobe or editing it down to a 'core style'. For the first time in a long time I was able to see this as something to be grateful for. I might not have a signature look, but I am able to gain a lot of pleasure from aesthetics and material things without limiting myself to one set of criteria.

Secondly, the people I saw and met showed me that there is a lot of scope for finding joy in your personal expression that goes above and beyond 'being stylish'. I met cosplayers, LARPers, historical reenactors, and people who either liked to dress up for festivals or just feel comfortable, and it reminded me that there is much more to dressing than trying to make your parameters as small as possible in order to define yourself. I realised that I'd recently been looking at clothes and dressing through quite a narrow lens as I tried yet again to 'find my style', and I went home feeling a sense of happiness and excitement about my fairly random wardrobe that I haven't felt in ages. Dressing is not just about encapsulating yourself at a given moment, it can also be about creating a character, creating a feeling, expressing a moment or connecting to something else (a sense of connection to your ancestors through the fabrics they wore, for example). 

In the weeks following the firewalk, I was aware of subtle changes in my thoughts and attitude. The day after, I came to a decision on something I'd been dithering about for years (more on which at some future point). When I found myself angsting over makeover shows, a calm voice in the back of my head said, this is just a racket to make you feel like what you already have isn't good enough.

I had proven to myself that I could be vulnerable and open, but I had also shown that I could be brave and strong. It changed slightly how I see myself and how I respond to the world, and I look forward to seeing where this new perception leads me. My broken arrow still sits on my altar. I am so thankful for the experience, to the instructors, to Dai for his support and encouragement, to my Goddess, and to Jenna and Amelie. 

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.

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 Clothes Don't Define Me

Recently I started feeling annoyed at the amount of time I have spent thinking about my clothes. How many hours I've wasted on Pinterest trying to build a blueprint for the look I really want. I've tried to use my wardrobe to express and to define my essential self, even when I didn't really know who that self was. It's been enjoyable at times, but at others deeply frustrating, as I've learned that clothes, on their own, don't make a personality. I've treated 'the wardrobe issue' as a problem to be solved before anything else. I'll write this book once I've sorted out the wardrobe issue. I'll be an artist once I look artsy enough. Everything the wrong way around, as I try to make my clothes speak for me, to define the limits of my character and interests with exactly the right garments.

Pinterest is a time eater and no mistake. Five more minutes quickly turns into an hour of blankly browsing through other people's faces and outfits. This is not the way I want to spend my life.

However, much to my surprise, I learned through Pinterest that I love what the kids are doing with fashion these days. If styles like fairy grunge, goblincore, cottagecore, adventurecore, earthcore and dark academia had been around when I was a confused ex-goth looking for new ways to express myself, I would have had such a good time trying all these out and rummaging through the charity shops for new pieces. The little gremlin voice in the back of my head (I call him Keith - go away, Keith) tells me I'm too old for goblincore, but I remind it that I've been into these aesthetics since 90s styles were 'in' the first time around. (I'm glad 90s clothes are back. I liked them then, I like them now. I just wish the bigger sizes would start making their way into second-hand shops. Mumma wants some baggy jeans please kids.)

When I was a teenager, there were really strongly drawn lines between subcultures and the mainstream culture. You were a 'chav' (or 'townies' as we called them where I grew up) or a goth or emo, and that was pretty much the entirety of your options. Whichever box you fitted into, you were supposed to hate everyone in the other. Nowadays, as far as I can see, the boundaries between what is mainstream and what is alternative seen to be much more fluid. There's a lot more scope for individual expression, and even in my small town I have noticed much more variety in everything from outfits to hair colour. Is fairy grunge alternative or mainstream? Do these distinctions still hold relevance?

I've spoken before about what it means nowadays to be 'alternative', which I think has changed a lot since I was young. I still have friends who feel very strongly about their allegiance to alternative subcultures (and one or two who refer to people outside their particular scene as 'normals', which makes me cringe), but I do wonder exactly how alternative it is to simply shop on different websites - Attitude instead of SHEIN, Killstar instead of New Look. I wonder if now, having radical politics, building a style from sustainable, ethical or second-hand clothing, or choosing a lifestyle such as veganism or going off-grid is perhaps more alternative, in this era of clothing abundance and tolerance for bright hair and body modifications, than choosing to belong to a subculture. How much are we actually defined by our clothes these days, now that most of us in the global North can buy anything from anywhere and adopt any style as fast as it can be shipped out to us? Is darning your socks a greater challenge to popular culture than wearing nothing but black?

(Brief tangent: Gothic Charm School, a blog I followed avidly back in the day and still enjoy, recently-ish touched on the white, pretty, thin homogeny that has become the image of goth on social media. I noticed this myself when I browsed #goth on Instagram for some outfit inspiration, and was both disappointed and unsettled by it. The blog post is here if you are interested, and I LOVED reading all the comments as well, being reminded of what it was about the goth scene that spoke to me in the first place and causes me to linger forevermore around the outskirts of all things dark and spooky.)

If the sheer vast size of the clothing industry has caused even alternative fashion to lose its meaning, why are we still so obsessed with fashion? Perhaps more so than ever before? Will supply and demand ever hit a ceiling, or will it keep forever growing until we abruptly discover we can't actually live on shoes? (Eating a pair of leather shoes will keep you alive for about a week, according to a book of facts I read once, but it'll be a horrible week, I'd imagine.)

At the other end of the spectrum, I have been increasingly alienated from my friends who enjoy wearing trendy clothes and keeping up with what's fashionable. I'm the awkward lurker in the group chat when the girls are discussing L'Oreal foundation and new dresses from SHEIN. Do I weigh in and talk about animal cruelty and sweatshop labour? Sometimes, yeah. And everyone says, yeah, wow, that's terrible, the atmosphere gets a bit stilted for a minute, and then we all go right back to doing what we were doing before. I don't want to constantly be a downer - that person who only pops up in the chat to tell you why you're wrong, yikes - but I also don't have anything much else to contribute. I was genuinely surprised at a friend's house when she received several parcels from Boohoo. In the little bubble I've created for myself since I started writing this blog, I'd kind of assumed that since we learned Boohoo use modern slavery to make their products, people would have just stopped shopping there.

After that visit, during which my friend tried on several stylish Boohoo dresses to choose an outfit for a wedding, I found I was really missing the particular feeling of cheap, abundant fashion. The haul. When you buy more than you need, just to try it, because it's so cheap. I used to run around Primark just throwing things into my basket. I didn't ever expect to miss that feeling, because I know full well that it's a signifier of exactly what's wrong with the fashion industry. But there I was anyway. Luckily I had a brainwave - I downloaded the second-hand shopping app Vinted, and spent an afternoon using up all my data browsing fast fashion that other people didn't want. I bought four items for £20 and felt sated.

This post has rambled around a lot, which is a not-inaccurate portrayal of how it feels in my head when I think about my wardrobe. I even have strange, nostalgia-tinged, longing dreams about dressing up in miniskirts and fishnets, my pre-baby body miraculously restored. I enjoy the ease of casual clothes, but miss the admiration from more complex, unusual looks. I also realised recently that I am more affected by body image issues than I thought, which is why I feel uncomfortable and awkward when I do dress up - I feel like I'm too chubby and un-pretty to be able to pull off those looks any more.

I really need to get my head together. I can see that I'm still giving clothes way too much importance, and trying to make them define me when they don't, and can't. That's not what they're for. 

Toxic Femininity

Not long ago I met up with my bridesmaids - six of my dearest friends - for morning coffee. Socialising with other women post-lockdown has been a bit of an eye-opener for me - embarrassingly, I had kind of forgotten that not everyone has been in the same echo chamber as me, worrying about climate change and learning how to cut down their consumption. Actually, I kind of completely forgot that lots of people aren't generally thinking about their consumption as problematic (whether it is or isn't, which of course is not for me to decide, although I would suggest that all of us in the global North perhaps need to think twice about our normalised habits) or obsessing over ethical fashion and cosmetics, and had to work at not pulling a disapproving-grandma face any time anyone mentioned PrettyLittleThing or L'Oreal.

What I have been working on, however, is being more open and honest about stuff (hopefully in a gentle way), so at one point I did find myself saying to two of my particularly glamorous friends - one of whom I haven't seen without make-up and impeccably coiffed hair since we were in primary school, and one of whom I have never seen without the whole arsenal of femininity in play - that I'm amazed by how they do it with two children apiece when I find it a challenge to shave my legs with any kind of regularity, let alone find the time for flicky eyeliner, and I wished I could ever manage to be as groomed.

Once they'd finished laughing at me, they told me two things: firstly, that skinny jeans can be hiding all sorts of things, so even the most fabulously turned out woman might possibly have not got around to shaving for three months, and apparently this is pretty normal. 

Secondly - and here one of my very oldest friends flicked her elegantly curled, highlighted hair, looked me dead in the eye, and said, "Well, I wish I didn't feel like I have to bother with all this -" she waved a hand to indicate her make-up and curls "- just to feel like I can leave the house. I wish I could be more carefree. I feel like other girls who don't wear make-up all the time are way more comfortable in their skin than I am. This is what I have to do just to feel acceptable, and I love it when I can get home and take my make-up off so I can rub my eyes without smooshing my mascara all over the place."

Okay. So that was me told. I was kind of stunned, to be honest. How had I managed to angst about my girl envy all this time without ever considering things from the other side of the fence?

Another thing we talked about a little bit - perhaps inevitably - was weight. I guess out of the seven of us, probably three or four are on a diet at any given time. Even I bought a scale this year, but I'm going to talk about that whole mess in another post. Suffice to say for now that eventually I had to sit down and re-read Just Eat It, and that while I was doing so I suddenly realised that the way a lot of women feel about their weight and looks - not good enough, must constantly improve - is also how I very often feel about the way I dress and the things I own.

What diet culture and consumer culture have in common is simply this: it's about control. When you fall too far into these twin traps, your thoughts are forever rattling around the same hamster wheel: what should you eat, how do you look, what should you wear, what should you buy. When you walk into a room, or down the high street, you automatically and semi-consciously rank yourself against other women - who's the thinnest, prettiest, best-dressed? 

More and more of us now are becoming aware of the toxic and damaging messages of diet culture, but I haven't often seen it linked to the parallel trap of overconsumption. Yet to my mind the insidious connections are obvious - people with low self-esteem are far more likely to spend more, not just on gyms, diet foods, supplements and all the other accoutrements peddled by the nutribollocks industry and its influencer poster children, but also on clothes (to conceal, to sculpt, to flatter, to commiserate, to aspire to), cosmetics, treatments and surgeries. Treat yo'self - self-love can be yours, right now, for this one-off bargain price of the cost of bath bombs, crystals, candles, lingerie, gym gear, hair dye, new nails, fake tan, gym membership, microblading, laser hair removal and a plant-based wellness spa retreat in the heart of the Cotswolds. 

I feel like this weird self-hating soup of diet culture, overconsumption and influencer culture is to women and femme-presenting people as toxic masculinity is to men. Things we might otherwise enjoy for their own sake (clothes, fashion, beauty, movement, food) become tainted by this bizarre set of rules for how we are 'supposed' to look (exist).

Stay in your box. Keep your attention fixed on the way you look. Build your brand. Get thin. Get thicc. Get strong. Get noticed. Be different, but also accessible. Be relatable, but also better. Have the right kind of eyebrows. Suck your stomach in. A little bit of FaceTune never hurt anyone. So authentic (#ad). It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change.  Don't rest on your laurels. Don't rest, period. Don't consider being content - there's always something else you can tone, sculpt, tweak, improve, buy, buy, buy. 

It's all the same trap.

Imagine: if being a woman wasn't a secret competition to be the best woman.

Imagine: feeling content. With what you have. With who you are.

Imagine: if you took the time you put into beauty routines and wardrobe overhauls and decluttering and shopping and diets and faux wellness and used it instead to rest and recharge. 

If you could walk into a room without a) picturing how you looked walking into the room and b) immediately ranking yourself against everyone there.

What your social life would look like if no one was worried about their body, their skin, their clothes, their hair. 

If we re-framed self-esteem as something you build, not something you buy, and made it contingent on something other than looks or wealth.

If we stopped buying - literally - into the bullshit.

Honouring Myself

I've got to level with you: digging up all those old photos for my Memory Lane post got me feeling really nostalgic for my old style. Sure, there's some stuff I don't miss from that time in my life - underneath the veneer I really didn't like my natural face, I thought I was fat, I was the girl who wore full make-up to the gym. My eyebrows occasionally washed off in the rain, and simply put, I no longer want to dedicate hours each day to achieving any kind of 'look'. 

When I was a serious goth blogger, I was generally in part-time employment, and in hindsight I suspect fairly depressed - it wasn't uncommon, on my days off, for me to stay in bed until mid-afternoon, then get on the computer until 3am, then back to bed. I could commit hours to getting dressed if I wanted to, because I didn't have much else in my life. I also didn't have the financial commitments or responsibilities that I have now, so if I spent all my money on boots, eyeliner and absinthe, it didn't impact anyone but future me (thanks for not saving anything from ten years in employment, past self, that was so helpful). 

I also don't see myself as a super-gothy type person any more. I like my rainbow dungarees and harem pants. I love a bit of colour. But there were definitely elements of that past style that I'd like to take forward into my new look - I'd forgotten how much I used to enjoy layering (decorative belts, lace sleeves under t-shirts, skirts of different lengths), and a wider variety of accessories than the necklaces and earrings I tend to fall back on nowadays (gloves, wristbands, hair accessories, tights, stockings, hats and brooches). 

Again, I'd have to remember appropriate dress (tights and skirts not always useful on the nature reserve, but fine for going to a cafe; t-shirt and jeans great on the nature reserve but also you are allowed to make an effort when you want to), but at least when I visit Glastonbury and Brighton later on this year I now have more of an idea of what sort of things to look out for (past me is kind of astonished that I now only have one small box of jewellery and one decidedly non-decorative belt). Having a greater range of accessories, and items like vest tops, scarves and shrugs bought with layering in mind, also meant that I could be more versatile, and make a wider range of outfits from a selection of favourite items. I spent the last couple of years trying to shed items that I deemed 'purely decorative' or 'unnecessary', which I think went hand-in-hand with my crisis of confidence, when I just wanted to be a little bit invisible. I feel like I'm going to spend a chunk of my early thirties trying to undo some of the decisions I made in my twenties. 

At the risk of sounding a bit dippy and New Agey (who, me?), the way I've been thinking about this is that I want to honour myself. Not subscribe to a label or someone else's dictates of how I should dress, not get carried away and obsess over my clothes above all else, but be true to myself, have fun, dress in a way that I find beautiful.

It has to be said that one thing I miss about dressing in a way that is markedly different, is people's reactions. Okay, not all of them (having beer cans thrown at my head can go), but there's this little vain part of me that loves a compliment. After I posted some of those old pics on the Book of the Face, I got a flurry of messages along the lines of: "you used to look really cool!" Thanks 😂 Whilst I don't want to go courting acclaim for its own sake, it's notable that I seemed to have decided that being older, and a parent, meant that I was no longer 'allowed' to feel a bit special or want beautiful things. Instead I should be happy with an anorak and jeans. Nothing wrong with my anorak and jeans by the way - but it's not like there's actually an age limit on "looking really cool", after which the fashion police will come and take me away if I look to be getting too interested in pretty things.

This reminds me again of that remark my friend Alice made about, "this isn't really you, it's just how you got used to dressing when you were pregnant." I was so angry at the time, but just as Dai occasionally contributes a pearl of wisdom, sometimes people who aren't me seem to have a better idea of what's going on with me than I do.

I'm weirdly nervous about re-learning how to accessorise. I've been trawling the charity shops looking for items to suit my current style and the direction I'm going in - so far, without much luck. This time, though, I'm determined to go slowly and be patient, instead of flinging my money at fast fashion 'alternative' brands, or things that are 'nearly right'. Honouring myself means not compromising on my ethics, too.

Letting Go of Labels

So, I have this one friend who makes me feel inferior. It's not her fault, it's entirely in my own head. At times I feel as though we have this weird imaginary secret rivalry, and sometimes I think she might even be doing the same thing, as our conversations seem to revolve around name-dropping and casual oneupmanship - who has been to the most obscure concert? Who has the most bizarre haircut? Who has read the most dark yet intellectual novel this year? Sound pointless and exhausting? Well, yeah. It kinda is. 

Eventually I realised that every time we hang out (which isn't often, these days - are you surprised?) I come away feeling like I need to amp up my weirdness and make it more visible.

I've always loved alternative fashion. When I moved on from my intense goth look, a lot of my friends expressed disappointment. They had enjoyed that I didn't dress like everyone else. But I've always found that my style is a fairly fluid thing. I take inspiration from a lot of places and I don't like to be limited to one palette or set of parameters. For a while fairly recently, after the flamboyance of being 'alternative' for most of my young life, I enjoyed the simplicity of T-shirts and jeans with no make-up, especially as a new mum. It felt freeing. But after a while, I found I didn't feel great about the way I looked.

One (brave) friend eventually commented, "I feel like this is just how you got used to dressing when you were pregnant. I don't feel like it's really 'you'."

I was furious about this for a while. But to some extent she was right. Between the all-consuming nature of parenthood, my 'eco-anxiety', which makes me feel as though the apocalypse is generally hanging over our heads (I mean, it is, right?) - might as well give up on looking nice when we'll all be killing each other over the world's last potatoes in a few weeks - and some vague, never-fully-expressed background thoughts about patriarchy and beauty standards and freedom, I'd slid into a rut of trying extremely hard not to care about how I looked and kind of hoping it would read as punk-rock-devil-may-care rather than, well, boring.

Every now and again I'd catch an unflattering photo of myself and think, wow, I need to get my shit together, but you know how it is, there are always more dishes to do, and the toddler mushed my eyebrow pencil anyway, and I'm saving money by not buying cosmetics, and Dai likes that I'm not so high maintenance... And so it would get pushed to the bottom of the priority pile over and over, manifesting only as uneasiness, a loss of confidence, feeling awkward in social situations.

Enter a visit to Secret Rivalry Friend. I feel bland in my jeans and jumper. That night I dream about - honestly - dying my hair radish-pink and getting a snakebite piercing. I hate this feeling that I have to be a certain amount of alternative for it to count. Like, all the little things that make me - make anyone - unique - music taste, reading material, sense of humour, talents, guilty pleasures, hobbies - don't add up to anything if I don't adopt the appropriate uniform.

I have a similar issue with Paganism. This is ridiculous, I know, but I always feel I ought to dress the part if I'm going to a public ritual, an esoteric shop or even a place with a notable Pagan community like Glastonbury or Burley. I worry that I won't be taken seriously if I don't look, well, witchy enough. 

And I find this tendency in myself deeply, deeply irritating, because the older I get and the more I learn, the more I find in myself that doesn't fit into a neat little box. The books I like to read. My music taste. My interests. My dress sense (which dependent on mood and activity runs the gamut from Animal to Mary Wyatt London via Wobble And Squeak, for want of a better way of describing it). And, yes, my Pagan practise also. 

I don't consider myself particularly 'eclectic', and what I do generally seems to fit under the banner of Druidry, but if I squint at it from different angles, on different days and in different moods, there's green witchcraft, kitchen witchcraft, a sprinkle of Wicca from time to time (I grew up in the 90s; Wicca was my intro point), a lot of wanting to be Terri Windling when I grow up, and a fair amount of winging it, with a sprinkle of 'stuff the house spirits told me to do'. Is this a thing? Is this Pagan-ing correctly? I really have no idea. But it seems to work for me. So generally I keep my mouth shut around people who might complain that I'm doing it wrong, and get the hell on with it.

And, to come back round to clothing - honestly, a lot of my actual practise seems to involve crawling into hedges or going barefoot or wandering about in rain and gales, so as I've alluded to before, when I look the most mystical I'm generally doing the least actual work, and when I look like a pasty, messy-haired anorak I'm probably feeling extremely Druidic. (Sadly this does not translate well socially - people do not see the anorak and go, "Aha, she's like super connected to nature and stuff,", they go "wow, she's really let herself go." But never mind...)

I've wandered, as I often do, far from the original point I wanted to make, which is that realistically, I like a lot of different and diverse things - I'm not sure why, in my head, I've made this into something to minimise or apologise for. This competitive comparison aspect isn't fun in my friendships, my daily life or in my Paganism, and I figure that the best way to get rid of it for good is to throw out all the labels and do what feels good to me. Looking nice doesn't mean always looking the same, being alternative doesn't mean adopting a uniform, and uniqueness is not something you have to wear like a badge. I want to embrace my different influences and inspirations by allowing myself to be as chameleonic as I please.

In Praise of Borrowing

When I was in my early teens, sharing clothes was pretty normal. It was exciting when my best friend Topaz got a bag of clothes handed down from her older, trendy neighbour, because I knew she'd give me what she didn't want and probably let me borrow the rest if I pleaded enough. My mum and I used to borrow each other's clothes too. Sometimes we even gave them back.

Nowadays, it's not so common to borrow a mate's dress to wear to a party. But for me, on my shopping ban, having a community of friends and relatives I could call on to help out was heartwarming and uplifting, not to mention it saved me a pretty penny or two.

When our electric whisk spluttered and died halfway through Dai making our son's first birthday cake, I called my friend Rose - she lived five minutes away, was a fellow mum so likely to be awake at such a silly time on a Sunday morning, and given her perfect house and propensity for holding coffee mornings, I felt sure she had a set of beaters we could borrow. And she came up trumps, saving us from a two-hour wait for the shops to open so we could have the cake ready in time for the party. (And she even said we could keep the beaters! What a woman.)

My friend Topaz lent me a pair of smart shoes for an evening out, and we now have an agreement whereby we share the shoes - mostly they live with me, unless called upon by Topaz for an occasion, thus saving us both from needing to buy any more nude wedding-guest shoes for quite some time.

When lockdown started, I asked Alice, a hardcore movie buff, if she could lend me some family-friendly DVDs to get me and the Spud through those long afternoons. She dropped off a stack of DVDs on her way to work - along with her Disney+ password.

At first I felt awkward and a bit weird asking for stuff, until I realised that it opened a door for people to ask me for things in return. This year I have lent and borrowed items from irons and plungers to books and hairdressing scissors, and therefore we have all saved a) money and b) resources, because rather than having one of everything each, we are sharing what we have.

I'm pleased to say as well that, as well as sharing, my friends and I do a lot of swapping. Maternity wear, baby clothes and toys have done the rounds from mum to mum in our group, saving us each a small fortune. And when we have a clear out (or just an item of clothing we're sick of looking at), we have developed the habit of rehoming the clothes with a friend rather than plonking them straight into the charity shop. 

Sometimes this has come in extremely helpful - just before my planned clothing swap in January 2020, my friend Ana was living in a camper van, which was stolen from a supermarket car park with all her possessions inside. Under my stairs at the time was a huge stash of clothes - spare items from all I had been given by Topaz, Bel and Alice, plus bags of things that had been given to me for the swap party. After making sure no one minded, I was able to go through it all and sort out an emergency stop-gap wardrobe for Ana. 

I've noted before that the generosity of friends had helped me out of a tight spot during my ban, and I really feel now that being able to help each other out - and ask for help (and nick each other's old clothes) - has brought us closer, and created a feeling of community. With the added bonus of being kinder to the environment. Happy days! It's not exactly ground-breaking, but I was so out of the habit of asking for what I needed (when I could just buy it) that people's willingness to share came as a lovely surprise.

The Life You Want Is Not For Sale

August last year was a breath of fresh air after lockdown as we were able to go on our annual trip to our favourite little cottage in Pembrokeshire. I drifted onto Pinterest and Instagram once each, and wasn't able to tear myself away from my emails as much as I would have liked, but the holiday was an interesting benchmark to see how I was changing. 

Our first visit, I was heavily pregnant, had no real sense of identity and so was shopping constantly as if I could build a self that way, and found it a relief to give up wearing make-up (strange now that that once seemed so radical!) and immerse myself in sightseeing and novels.

Our second, I was not far into my first attempted no-shop year. The Wi-Fi had arrived, and I was anxious and plagued by comparison, desperate to improve myself in various ways as I didn't feel up to the standard of other women I saw. This was the year of frantic Pinterest- and ASOS-scrolling in bathrooms.

This year, I felt much more relaxed and comfortable in my own skin. I kept up with messages, surveys and emails, more because I felt I should than because I wanted to, so I didn't get that complete sense of escape, retreat and renewal, but it didn't get out of hand either. I enjoyed trying local foods, and I did make some purchases, including a second-hand knitting book from a junk shop, a hat from a woollen mill we visited, and a skorts situation (one of the most useful items of clothing I own! Dries really quickly and has three pockets!) from an ethical clothing store we visited so that I could go swimming comfortably whilst on my period. I felt much more engaged with and aware of nature - we spent a lot of time on the beach, swimming, clambering over rocks and finding incredible things in rock pools. And the comparison was gone - hooray!

In September, our trip to Glastonbury rolled around, shortly before my birthday. Again, I made some purchases - the first of which was a book on nålbinding and a bone needle from the Viking shop Wyrd Raven (love me some heritage crafts!). 

As usually happens when I find myself in places where everyone is a bit alternative in manner of dress, I felt a bit boring and basic. I can't win with this. If I bust out the velvet dresses and shitkicking boots I feel self-conscious and like The Weird Friend(TM) (I have friends who do introduce me as "the weird one" - they don't realise I'm actually really super-sensitive and cry a little inside). If I wear jeans and t-shirt I feel plain and unimaginative. But the comparison is a far cry from what it used to be, and I don't need dreadlocks and a cupboard full of dubiously sourced crystals to be interested in the environment or to enjoy Glastonbury. 

We had a busy weekend of sightseeing, drinking blackberry mead in our hotel room and (in my case) looking hopefully for faeries, and I had no difficulty with refraining from shopping until the very last day, when I broke on all counts. I couldn't resist an Instagram post, and I bought three items of clothing. I was disappointed with the first point, but not the second in the end. Although I was time-pressured (Dai and the Spud were waiting in the car) and budget-constrained, the three pieces I bought - essentially on impulse, wanting to capture the sense of excitement, unconventionality and free-spiritedness I was feeling - have turned out to be three of the most-worn, most-loved and useful things I own! A chunky multicoloured knitted jacket with a fleece lining, which has served me well over the winter, a pair of purple tie-dye dungarees, and a pair of harem pants with a muted rainbow stripe. 

Before I decided I was going to make some purchases, shopping ban be damned, the Spud and Dai and I sat eating our breakfast and drinking our much-needed coffee at a spindly table in the village square, basking in the sunshine. I was hunched over my phone, researching the ethical credentials of the shops I planned to visit, until I was satisfied I could give myself the green light to go ahead without guilt on that front. 

I was also pleased with myself because I have a clear memory from my first Pembrokeshire trip, when I chose not to buy a pair of bright tie-dye leggings, because I was worried they might "draw too much attention to me". I was happy that I was beginning to choose for myself, not make myself small or try to fit a label (I used to buy pretty much anything vaguely goth that came across my path).

Coming home from Glastonbury I felt quite rejuvenated. I expect that, living in a place that is largely pretty provincial, it's healthy to be reminded that it's okay to be a bit more 'out there'. I started to make more effort with decor around our home, and I considered planning an annual or biannual trip to Glastonbury to stock up on mead, Goddess statues, Viking jewellery and unconventional ethical clothing. 

I had a twinge or two in case this was all a bit consumerist, but at the same time I wondered (as I have many times before) whether the human soul simply needs colour, beauty and art every now and again.

A lot of my wardrobe felt a little lacklustre in comparison to my new things. I had been playing it safe for a long time - worried about attention, or vanity, or consumerism. I'd almost forgotten the joy of impulse-buying something that is exactly right, or choosing a book in a real, physical bookshop. Non-chain-store shopping that is ethical and vibrant and brings a little excitement. Surely this is not the same animal as the blind, semi-desperate basket-filling I used to do in Primark, IKEA, Zara, it's-cheap-so-I'll-have-it? Is it selling out to consumer culture to take joy in well-chosen material objects, to appreciate the things we use and cherish them, not buy them to be used once and discarded?

Browsing online started to frustrate and irritate me. I couldn't find items that produced the same spark, especially since I wasn't sure what keywords to use or where to look. Standard labels we use like 'hippie' or 'alternative clothing' mainly turned up stuff that was mass-produced, sweatshop-made and unoriginal, which wasn't at all what I was looking for (is it 'alternative' if you bought it from the same website or brand that all the other 'alternative' kids are shopping from this week? What's unique about a goth-in-a-box kit from Attitude Clothing? Tell me how that's less basic than buying all your clothes from New Look). 

Then it was my birthday. It was fantastic and felt really special - books, flowers, sunshine and a most excellent Indian takeaway. 

On my birthday, I decided that the shopping ban was to be no more. I wrote in my journal, "I want to be able to treat myself without guilt - enjoy books, films, music and art as and when I want to without feeling bad about it. And I want to learn to find a balance between spending and being frugal without going to one extreme or the other." 

Can you guess what happened next? That's right! I went to the other extreme. It started so promisingly - we went to an artisan's market, and I bought nothing. Hooray! I had discovered that I could make good decisions and apply what I'd learned without clinging to the framework of trying never to buy anything. 

Except... not so much. Online browsing, annoying and unsatisfying though it was, quickly filled up my spare moments. Within three days I'd bought six clothing items, an art piece, and some more books. Whilst the items were great, I knew I couldn't afford for this to continue, and I also felt lacking in purpose without the ban to direct me (here's a thing I should probably do something about, as I don't intend to be on a shopping ban forever). So I reinstated my limits.

I want to enjoy my clothes, but I don't want to go back to having to prove how ~alternative~ I am by buying into a 'look'. And I don't want to spend hours online, fruitlessly searching for - what, exactly? I feel like an exciting, enchanted, magical life is out there, but I just don't know how to find it or create it. I have deduced, however, that it's not for sale on Etsy.

Community vs. Consumption

Day 100 of the 2019 shopping ban - or what would have been - came and went. I consoled myself with the thought that I would have spent an awful lot more over the last three months had I not been putting my heart and soul into my challenge. It had been a shock to me how quickly I fell back into 24/7 browsing, shopping, and thinking about shopping. And I was astonished by how crap it made me feel - I was desperate to stop again. I didn't care if my clothes were unstylish, I would wear bin bags if that was what it took to leap back off the dizzying whirl of the consumer carousel. 

I stopped the clear out. It was making me worried and uncomfortable, wishing I'd left well enough alone. I was concerned about the time, money and effort it would take to replace what I was bagging up. I felt I was going too far in my need to reach a clean slate. And once again I was trying to create an image around myself instead of keeping in mind my true likes and dislikes, and my real life.

Three months of hard work, trashed in a few days! There had to be better ways of spending my time.

Shopped Out

Once I had some breathing space, it was time to tackle the new set of problems I had now made for myself, a matched pair. One: I had once again devastated my finances, and there was only one last lump sum of holiday pay on the horizon, at the end of the month. I was going to have to figure out how to stretch that money as far as it could possibly go.

Two: I had devastated my wardrobe. In the ruthlessness of my clearout, I had left myself next to nothing for daily life. It was all very well and good that these two party dresses and this winter blouse sparked joy, but what was I going to wear now?!

The second problem, after all that frenzied buying and discarding, turned out to be the easiest to fix. I set myself a £20 budget to hit the charity shops and replenish my naked closet. 

After the intensity and guilt of the previous fortnight, I was - finally - shopped out. I couldn't summon up the energy to browse every rail and compare every item to try to curate the perfect selection of items that "felt like me". I went to British Heart Foundation. I picked up every item in my approximate size from the £2 or less rail. I took them into the changing room, and I bought everything that fitted that I didn't hate. I repeated these actions the following week. 

It was far from being the perfect wardrobe, mismatched and full of oddities, but I was resolved, now, to stop giving the whole matter such goddamn importance. I was sick of repeating the same cycle and learning nothing. The whole experience of shopping online - with such queasy passion, such grasping desperation! - had reminded me of why I'd wanted to get off this ride in the first place. I'd felt totally out of control, and that frightened me. Much to my surprise, I hadn't enjoyed shopping at all.

The Generosity of Friends

For a short time I muddled through, doing an awful lot of laundry as my new "minimalist" wardrobe endured the daily deluge of baby food, milk, puke, and other things the bevy of well-dressed online influencers smiling benignly at their ethically produced ceramic mugs apparently weren't dealing with.

Then one day I was having a cuppa with a good friend, Bel, when I mentioned I was low on clothing options. Bel winced, laughed and said, "Well, I've just had a clearout. Let me bring you a bag of stuff over and see if there's anything you want."  I was delighted - even more so when she returned with an enormous shopping bag of lovely things. It wasn't all to my taste, but it cheered me up immensely to have some new outfit options - and for free!

Word soon spread amongst my social circle that the lunatic on a self-imposed shopping ban had compounded her personal torture by throwing out half her clothes. My mum, bless her, dug out from the depths of her cupboard a bag of things she'd been meaning to take to a charity shop, and kindly returned to me a warm coat I'd given her the previous winter because I thought it was unstylish. The designer replacement I'd bought did nothing to keep out the wind - not an issue in June, but a nightmare in January. When you can't solve your problems with spending, it's best to be prepared.

One friend, Alice, turned up with a bag of clothes and an expression of pity. I'm not sure if she thought I was a charity case or just a bit of an idiot. Bridesmaid Topaz turned up with an astonishing six binbags (SIX) for me to take my pick from. "I'm not a shopaholic," she explained. "This is what I left behind at my mum's house when I moved out. She's such a hoarder, she didn't want me to part with any of it. I've been working on her for ages! I haven't even seen some of this stuff in years. Do what you like with it."  

I was left with a bulging wardrobe (again), a sense of gratitude and great relief, and a new insight into the content of my friends ' closets. It seemed I wasn't the only one with a tendency to accumulate an untenable amount of stuff. One close friend had had an entire second bedroom devoted to rails of clothing, but had to scale back when her partner moved in. She is always beautifully dressed, but had dipped into her overdraft in order to fund her shopping habit. 

The ladies didn't want any of the excess clothing back, so as well as a full wardrobe I now had a full cupboard under the stairs. This time, rather than stress and overwhelm, my full wardrobe gave me only joy and a sense of abundance. I realised that the thousands of options online had only given me a sense of panic, of needing to keep up, of not-enough-ness. I had actually stopped browsing charity shops, prior to the ban, because I had come to feel that to make the exact right clothing choices and stop buying things I didn't wear, I needed the option to filter by size, brand or colour. I was overwhelmed by choices. Want jeans? Dark wash, acid wash, stone wash, sandblast, boyfriend, slim boyfriend, girlfriend, mom jean, skinny jean, super skinny, high waist, low rise, ripped, raw, ankle grazing, bootcut, flared, skate jean, balloon jean, cocoon, embroidered, slim fit, cigarette, stretch, jegging, bleached, cargo, frayed, button front, straight leg, cropped, distressed, crop flare, cuffed hem, pleated, pom-pom trim, patched, plastic knee windows... A smorgasbord of choices. (I did not make any of these up!)

And yet, I still couldn't seem to find exactly what I wanted - trend-driven fashion brands produce en masse, and their target market apparently wasn't a twenty-seven year old new mum with a round belly and boobs that require scaffolding. In fact, many brands and high street stores seemed to be aiming their wares at a target market of petite teenagers who don't need underwear or feel the cold.

Conversely, these new clothes of mine had been chosen from a very limited selection - they were not "perfect", or curated, or selected via a Pinterest infographic. But they brought colour, and variety, and I felt happy to have them. I also felt silly for not having thought of asking my friends and family for help sooner. Was I so locked into the consumer mindset that I had forgotten about community?

The Dark Side of "Retail Therapy"

I had also now seen first hand the sheer volume of clothes already at large in the world. Women and their overstuffed wardrobes are the butt of many a movie joke (Confessions of a Shopaholic, anyone?), but seeing the stress, financial pressure and even debt caused by overshopping, I wasn't laughing. 

Retail therapy is promoted to women as the cure for whatever ails us. I have bought new clothes to cheer up, to wind down, to reinvent myself, to affirm myself, to celebrate an achievement. It had become the norm for me to buy a new outfit for any given night out. When planning my wedding, I put "new dress for hen party" on my to do list without even thinking about it. It literally did not occur to me to wear something I already had. And I doubt that I'm alone in this. In fact, Metro reported in 2017 that one in six young people won't re-wear clothes they've been photographed in on social media; a survey of 2000 women cited by the Daily Mail found that an item of clothing is worn, on average, just seven times. During my ban, Dai overheard a Primark shop assistant telling her colleague that she replaces her jeans every six months, as she feels after that they are "worn out". 

With a culture that places so much emphasis on our appearance on the one hand, and treats clothing as a disposable commodity on the other, it was no major surprise that all my friends' wardrobes were bursting at the seams. 

Having worked in a charity shop, I had seen first hand a small portion of the millions of garments that are donated each year - many unworn. The shop I worked in received such a high volume of donations that we occasionally had to turn goods away, because we simply didn't have the physical space to take in any more! Yet despite the best efforts of staff and volunteers, charity shops in the UK only sell around 10% of the clothing they are given. The rest - damaged or soiled items, but also unsold items in good condition - is sold to "rag traders", who generally ship it to third world countries. The second hand clothing industry is worth billions of pounds, but it is also saturated. Second hand western clothing is no longer a hot commodity; there is just too much of it. 

Our cast-offs are known in markets in Ghana as 'Dead White Man's Clothes', as Liz Ricketts reports on the Fashion Revolution blog, "When secondhand clothing started flooding into Ghana in the 1960s people assumed that the cheap imports had been the property of deceased foreigners, hence the name. The truth – that the clothing was simply excess that living consumers in the USA and Europe no longer wanted – was less than obvious." Kantamanto Market in Ghana is the largest second-hand clothing market in West Africa; 15 million items are unloaded there each week, and yet Liz Ricketts discovered that 40% of each clothing bale sent to Kantamanto becomes waste in landfill. Haiti is so flooded by second hand clothing imports that the local textile industry has suffered and many tailors have gone out of business. We are producing, buying, and disposing of so much excess clothing that even the developing world cannot make use of it. 

How Extinction Rebellion Stole Christmas

As Christmas approached in the first year of the shopping ban, my newfound frugality and burgeoning environmental awareness were twisting me in knots as I tried to think of ways to participate in this orgy of gift-giving without decimating my savings or trashing the planet more than I could help.

Not too long before, I'd heard some rumblings about this radical environmentalist group called Extinction Rebellion who were protesting in London, bringing city streets to a standstill, arguing against Fashion Week, and otherwise generally making a nuisance of themselves. I was intrigued. All this passion, chaos and rage seemed to have boiled up very suddenly out of nowhere - what was going on?

I'd had vague positive feelings about Greenpeace for a long time, but by and large was convinced that all that environmental stuff was pretty radical and woo-woo, the province of earnest, slightly scary hemp-smelling people with hairy armpits. But XR was not only huge but encompassing all kinds of people, grandmothers and businessmen and schoolchildren. I decided to look them up.

Game changer.

With my sleeping child in my arms, I watched an XR video entitled The Truth. At first I was just interested. Then I was shocked. Then I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. As the girl with the punky haircut explained feedback loops and melting permafrost and food shortages and rising sea levels, I gripped my tablet in numb hands.

Does everyone know about this? Why isn't everyone panicking? What have we done? Oh, holy shit...

The full scale of the climate emergency caught me off guard and unsuspecting, a sucker punch to my sense of security and stability. I'm not ashamed to say, I wept. I'd brought a child into a world with a very uncertain future, and I felt powerless to protect him.

Let me loop back from existential dread to Christmas shopping (two things that go nicely hand in hand, I often find). After learning about the climate emergency, I found I had no more urge to buy joke presents, or anything really that people might not want or wouldn't use. The first year of the ban I was just a ball of stress - eco anxiety plus wanting to find the best possible gifts plus money being a little tight equalled worry from October onwards.

Some of my friends arranged a Secret Santa using a wishlist app. Enthusiastically, I filled my list with books, bath bombs and charity gifts - only to discover that the theme for the event was "dirty/inappropriate". I felt deeply humourless and a bit of a wally but just could not bring myself to buy a plastic penis of any description having just watched XR's video about, basically, the end being nigh (in the end I plumped for a book of howlingly bad self-published erotica and, okay, a penis-shaped lipstick. Apparently there's a gap in the market for sustainable or zero-waste erotic gifts...). I kept picturing every hen party inflatable penis sticking up from landfill - outliving us. What a legacy for the human race! (Told you - humourless.)

For everyone else, I considered crafting gifts, and whilst this is something I've got more confident about recently (this year I've given a knitted hat, handmade candles, body scrubs, elderflower cordial and blackberry liqueur), in 2019 I was still wrapped up (pun intended) in consumer culture and I was worried I would seem stingy or thoughtless.

Instead I decided I would support small local businesses. This turned out to be a bit of a bust - in my small town I only knew of a few local craftspeople, and I quickly discovered that doing my entire Christmas shop with them would leave me all but bankrupt. Eventually, cross and frustrated, I did my shopping exactly as I normally would, except I shopped in my hometown instead of travelling to a big city mall or market (and minus the "one for you, one for me" mathematics I have been known to apply in years previous!).

This year I was better prepared. I shopped mostly online (pandemic!), but I chose items from small businesses in the UK and favoured companies using sustainable materials and processes. It all sounds a bit "worthy", I know, but I don't in good faith want to keep pouring my family's resources into environmental destruction. To me, it's been worth a little more thought and a little more time. 

I also bit the bullet in the first year of the ban and had a chat with friends about setting a budget for our gifts, as in our mutual affection and enjoyment of gift-giving it was all getting a bit out of hand. One or two friends suggested that we no longer buy gifts for each other but focus on the littles instead. The rest of us agreed a £5 budget, which chafed at first but came to remind me of childhood Christmases, when we were given "token" gifts (often practical or edible) which were given with great love but caused the giver little stress, financially or otherwise. I also have one friend with whom I tend to exchange secondhand books - it works for us.

I realised that my personal Christmases had been overshadowed by worry. I was overthinking it, competing against the imaginary Joneses and their perfect Christmas gifts, frightened of appearing cheap (when money's tight for pretty much everyone right now anyway) and it was leeching all the enjoyment out of the process.

So please know, friends and family, that I may not have got you much this year, but I chose as carefully as I could, with the best of intentions! 

This Week's Accountability

Happily, I can report that I am now over fifty days into my current ban and doing well. Admittedly I have spent more this week than I normally do, but within shopping ban parameters - I have finished my Christmas shopping, posted the majority of my cards, and bought some local cheeses, chutneys and other nibbles (and driven Dai mad by pronouncing 'chutney' like Schmidt from New Girl), and some mulled cider and mead - I'm really looking forward to tucking in with the family over Christmas.