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. 

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.

Memory Lane: Adventures in Style

 "I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then," - Alice in Alice in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll).

Since drifting away from the Goth scene about ten years ago, I have dabbled in a variety of fashions and subcultures. Nowadays I have a much better understanding of how I want to look, and it does indeed incorporate many of these inspirations (though sometimes only as a vague nod, perhaps recognisable only to myself - but then maybe that's as it should be). But for a long time I found myself at a loss - I love so many different styles and have so many inspirations, and I found them so conflicting that I couldn't even think how to combine them.

I would rather be inspired by these things and use that inspiration to create my own style, than attempt to tick all the boxes and fit myself into one category or another, but where I was deeply involved in a specific subculture for a long period of time, I found it very strange for a while not to 'belong'. 

Post-Goth, my first move was to fling myself onto the interwebs and try to find another subculture that spoke to me in the same way. In some ways, this taught me a lot. For example, I spent some time as a dreadheaded faux-hippie and I did commit myself fairly whole-heartedly (went vegan, stopped shaving), which, whilst long-term turned out not to be for me, did teach me a lot of things about the way I relate to my body, and how ingrained beauty standards can be.

But I digress.

Now that I feel I'm finally moving on from this period of intensive introspection and learning how to dress purely for myself, I thought I'd share some pictures from the road thus far - a few of the different identities I've tried on over the years.

My awkward journey through style

Goth girl, aged 14-21 approx

I have always loved the Goth look, but I gave up on being a Goth (after seven years immersing myself in all things spooky) because there were more and more elements of the scene that were no longer appealing to me. Plus I was finding that my image and appearance dominated my every waking thought, and I wanted a break from spending each and every moment trying to be the Queen of Darkness.

This is one of those rainbow skirts I wish I hadn't got rid of. And that's my mum!

Gutter faerie, aged 22-23

The year or so I spent exploring this style/lifestyle did help me in many ways. It gave me a break from fixating on my appearance and I rediscovered meditation, exercise and art. I still love bright colours, tie-dye and a kind of earthy faerie vibe.

Strega/mori/witchy-inspired interlude, 24-ish

I enjoyed this, and again there are elements of this in my style today, but it eventually came to feel like I was wearing a costume all the time, which got old fast. It did, however, gel with my interest in fae and folklore (and when I say 'interest' I mean 'obsession'), and satisfied the lingering Gothstalgia.

Attempted normality, 24-ish

A short-lived phase of experimenting with a simple, casual kind of style, inspired by books like How To Be Parisian and fashion bloggers on Instagram. This had a few slightly different iterations: folksy, boho, minimalist, rock chick. Okay, once I got the hang of mainstream fashion proportions ('mom jeans'!), it was much easier and quicker to choose an outfit and get dressed in the mornings. The only problem was that I didn't feel a pared-down, mainstream style said much about me as a person. Frankly, I was bored.

This style did have a resurgence around the time I met Dai, when I was newly on the dating scene and scared of presenting myself as 'too quirky'. I'm not sure how surprised Dai really was when once we got to know each other I quickly devolved back into my actual self (henna! harem pants! waistcoats!) but he took it rather well.

Le geek c'est chic, 25-ish

At this point I'd really given up hope and was just kind of substituting fandoms for a personality. Expressing yourself is v simple when all your T-shirts function as billboards. However, I was changing my hair colour on a monthly basis and I did love that (not so much the upkeep, though).

I reverted to Attempted Normality as a new mum, and I've been slowly foraying back into the realms of clothing that lights me up. I'd become keen to hide, afraid of garnering attention, but I'm pleased to report that those feelings are decidedly on the wane. I don't need a fanfare of approval and a cascade of likes for every outfit, but I also don't mind not blending into the crowd. (I don't take outfit photos any more generally speaking, but the odd waistcoat appreciation post finds its way onto my Instagram, if you're curious.)

I feel like I've been a bunch of different people over the years. And I kind of like them all, in different ways and for different reasons. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the end result that is ME is a mishmash of all of these things. My look isn't everybody's cup of tea, I guess, but it doesn't have to be. That's kind of the point, I think.

Happy in my Skin

Fifteen years ago I hated the way I looked. I thought I was fat. I thought I was ugly. I thought that having bad skin and flat hair made me not only unlikeable but scarcely worthy of personhood. Like many young people of a similar age, I obsessed about it. I starved. I binged. I created weird food rituals. I exercised continually. I asked for a treadmill for Christmas. I spent a fortune on lotions and potions for my skin, my hair, my imaginary cellulite (I have real cellulite now, turns out it's fine). I wrote endless lists of ways to improve myself. One that I wrote, aged thirteen-ish, includes the bullet point, 'get boob job'.

For a teenage girl, this wasn't unusual. An awful lot of my friends were doing the same thing.

In my mid-teens I discovered Goth and alternative fashion. This gave me a new focus, and it took me a few more years to realise that covering your issues with make-up is not the same as confronting them. There was a stage in my life when I wouldn't go outside without make-up on. I was happy to spend an hour just on my hair and make-up in the mornings, because I didn't feel 'acceptable' without it. Oh, the irony, when I was relating to subcultures that were spawned from punk, the original fuck-you to standards of appearance laid out by society and the media.

At the time, I didn't realise that my obsession with my clothes, hair and make-up was, for me, a different symptom of the same problem. I was still spending an enormous chunk of my time - and money - fussing over my appearance. I thought that because I was eating three square meals a day, and had the confidence to wear weird clothes in public, that I was OK. The fact that I still hated the person I was underneath, the face I was born with, somehow didn't even register with me.

At around the time I drifted out of the Goth scene, I discovered body positivity. I had always considered myself a feminist - of course I believed in equal rights for women - but I had never stopped to think what it really meant. Not just to me, personally, but in general. If feminists were fighting for equal rights, what were they fighting against?

One of the issues raised by feminism, I learned, was one that had taken up a large portion of my teen years - beauty standards. The more I read up, the more I became horrified that it had just genuinely never occurred to me that there was more to my life than what I looked like.

Don't get me wrong. I care about how I look. I like to look good. But I'm trying to accept that my idea of 'good' is not necessarily going to be anyone else's idea of good. 

When I was a little girl, my mother tells me I had no interest at all in fashion. From my own memories, this isn't entirely true. I had no concept of being stylish, or even of looking acceptable in the eyes of my peers, but I had strong ideas of what I liked (flower patterns. Rainbow colours. Shiny fabric. People with bright-coloured hair. Dreadlocks. Things with ponies on. Some of these still hold true. Some do not).

Then, growing up, I went through the hideous stage I think many of us do in secondary school - suddenly realising that I didn't 'fit'. I wore a baggy Green Day hoodie I had on loan from my friend Topaz. My hair was cut short and bleached blonde (attempting to emulate Mary Stuart Masterson in the film Some Kind of Wonderful, which I watched approximately 1000 times when I was laid up on the couch with a neon-pink cast around my broken ankle, aged thirteen). I liked rock music and dance music and ripped jeans and obnoxious plastic earrings and shell jewellery and skate shoes and None Of This was acceptable to my classmates, who proceeded to make my life a living hell.

I left school very young, but the damage, as it were, was done *turns up the melodrama*. I had learned that the things I liked (weird clothes, Bleeding Edge Goth dolls and going to the bookshop after school with Topaz to buy manga and L.J. Smith books) were enough to make me unacceptable to others. Even in my Goth years, when I was generally thoroughly enjoying myself, I was aware that I had 'guilty pleasures', mostly musically. And yes, from time to time, I got slated for them.

I have always tried to cram myself into the 'right way' to do things according to however I was presenting myself at the time. So the most important step so far on my journey to feeling comfortable in my skin, life, and wardrobe, has been to seek out and embrace all the little, guilty, nerdy, secret interests I have stamped on and squashed and bring them into the light. To stop staring into my closet with a growing sense of horror and instead fling on the nearest, cleanest tee and jeans and go write something, draw something, cook something, go outside.

The next stage is where I'm at now - to stop treating pleasure in clothing and enjoyment of aesthetics as if it's something shameful, but just one of many facets that make up a whole person. Instead of throwing on the nearest clothes, I can take pride in putting together an outfit - not to appear acceptable, not to fit in, but to my own standards, what looks and feels good to me, because I'm happy in my skin at last.

Advice from a Past Self

Ferreting through some of my old writing recently has brought me face to face with the fact that I've been wandering in circles for some time, mentally speaking, rehashing some of the same old thoughts and ideas about style and identity. For example, I wrote the below in 2015, and then apparently didn't take my own advice *head in hands, gently screaming*

It's deeply frustrating that I have been doing this same kind of navel-gazing for so long, and I can imagine that it's nearly as irritating to read about as it is to live through. I really, sincerely am grateful that you have continued to bear with me. 

I have mentioned on numerous occasions the time in my life I secretly think of as the Flailing Years, when I moved from being an enthusiastic-if-slightly-clueless goth girl to, well, whatever it is I am today. With hindsight, progressing from one style and sense of identity to another is not, in the grand scheme of things, a very big deal. At the time, it was, for various reasons, petrifying and somewhat hideous. 

Mistakes were made; money squandered; even the most patient loved ones grew tired of hearing me wail 'I don't know who I am any mooooooore!', not least because the only advice they could give ('Just wear what you want!') seemed to fall on deaf ears. (You can't just wear what you want when you haven't the foggiest idea what you want in the first place!)

I don't know whether or not anyone else shifting between styles has found themselves tripped up by an all-or-nothing approach to things like I did; or has stayed up into the wee hours endlessly trying to dissect - both out loud and in journals - what the hell kind of person they actually, deep down, really wanted to be. But I'm assuming that there are more of us out there! And for those people, having flailed my way through the deepest depths of self-absorption, frustration and confusion, I can now present a few tips that helped, at least for me - stuff I wish someone had said to me at the time. I'm sure a lot of this will sound really obvious to other people, but it wasn't to me.

1. You can't buy a new you. What will actually happen, if you're much like me, is that you'll end up with a pile of extremely strange clothes - none of which go together, most likely - and in a year's time you'll end up getting rid of half of it whilst wondering why you didn't buy a new computer game or a weekend away instead. During that year, you will become increasingly stressed that none of these purchases actually made you feel any better, and go on to feel thoroughly suffocated by the amount of random, unwearable stuff you now have. So first and foremost, limit your clothing purchases. If your wardrobe fills you with unhappiness and lingering dread, then OK, go out and buy a few things that you could stand to wear right now. But other than that, put down the credit card. 
2. Instead of buying beautiful clothes that you will look at in awe and never, ever wear, spend the money on something better. Better, you ask? What's better? Something that's meaningful to you. What are your passions? Your hobbies? Get a new book or a new moisturiser or cactus or pair of headphones. Take a trip somewhere, to a gig or a new gallery. Get away from thinking about style and subcultures for a bit. If you really, really don't know what's important to you right now, go basic. Take yourself to see a film. Buy yourself a coffee or a box of doughnuts (I have a loose definition of meaningful, all right?!). Why? Because the best way I've found to dig yourself out of a style identity crisis is to get to know yourself better, under the clothes (not like that, you perv).
3. Stay away from the internet. And stop wandering despairingly around Topshop while you're at it. Oh, the hours I wasted waiting to come across the one person or picture or item that would be The Ultimate Piece Of Inspiration, and make my sense of identity suddenly click into place. 
4. And maybe start browsing things that are relevant to you as a whole person, not just how you want to look. If you're not as all-or-nothing as I could sometimes be, you might not have jettisoned large chunks of your personality to focus more on fashion. But if you have, now's a good time to start gathering them back in. In other words, if there's ever a time when looking into a fandom is a good idea, it's now.
5. Make something. Anything. I literally don't care if you're drawing stickmen. Creation is cathartic, it distracts you from obsessing, and it gives you something better to talk about than your shoe wishlist.
6. Focus on moments. When I was paying most attention to my appearance, I had a tendency to try to watch myself as if from the outside. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, my attention was on how I looked to others whilst I was doing it, not how it felt from the inside. I'm not saying that it doesn't matter at all how you look. If it's important to you, that's cool. But I don't think that in the short human lifespan, the most important thing should ever be how you looked while you were here. If you can, try to pay attention to what's going on around you, what your senses are telling you, how you feel; not picturing how you look in this particular light or how you're going to write this up for your blog later. Be there for the experience (and if you then realise you don't like where you are, make your excuses and leave).
7. Think about your values. What's important to you? Feminism? Animal welfare? Politics? Self-expression? Art? Many of the groundbreaking subcultures we know of today came about through a political protest or music genre. As you look deeper into what your values are, you may find one of these movements that speaks to you. Or you may just get to know yourself a bit better, which plays a big part in finding your own style.
8. What drew you to your starting-point subculture in the first place? Was it just the look? If so, what elements would you want to keep (silhouettes, colour schemes, distressed elements, fabrics etc.)? Were there other factors, like music, art, literature or friendships? Chances are, you can change your style without 'losing' any of those. Think about what drew you in, why you want to change, and what elements from that subculture or style you want to 'keep'. I wrote this post to help me think about what 'spoke' to me from the styles I had an interest in.
9. Similarly, try to work out what you want from your wardrobe. Be honest with yourself! I had to accept that, though I love fancy looks on other people, my priorities are comfort and freedom of movement, so six-inch-heels and corsets aren't for me - at least not for everyday wear. How do you feel in what you're wearing right now? How would you like to feel? Could there be something you need to accept, or change? It helps to stick to these ideas when you make new purchases - if you know you feel most comfortable in simple, casual clothes, you can buy as many frilly dresses as you want but they'll probably just sit in the wardrobe. If you prefer to wear black but feel like you 'should' try colour - erm, why? They're your clothes; you're the one who has to pay for them, accommodate them and wear them (or not).
10. Experiment privately. Mistakes will happen. Take photos if you want to remember what you wore or how it made you feel, but wait a while before you post them online or you may cringe later. And we've all had times when you realise halfway through the day that you feel ridiculous in your outfit. Sometimes this will happen and it can't be helped, unless you want to wear the same clothes every day (I practically do, actually). But for important events, try to stick to what you know and what you feel good in, at least until you've got more of a handle on your wardrobe. (And if you do end up realising you looked like a lunatic at X party, try not to stress. Goodness knows, we've all been there. In my case, repeatedly.)
11. One of the most important things for me, which I have alluded to in several of the other tips here, is to try not to obsess. When I realised that my interests were shifting away from Gothdom, my style then became almost all I could think about. If I wasn't this person any more, then who the hell was I?! Trying to force myself into a new cookie-cutter category - even if I had to make one up myself - so that I could relax became my mission. It was only when I gave up, out of sheer frustration, and resigned myself to wearing pyjamas and nerd T-shirts forever, that things like my values, passions and actual priorities became visible to me again. Be patient with yourself.
12. Don't beat yourself up. When I was a Goth, I thought I'd be happy dressing that way for my whole life. I loved it. So when I started to feel that it wasn't for me any more, I was upset. I felt irritated with myself for not having enough 'commitment', and tried to stay Goth longer even though I was really starting to feel like I wanted to move on and try other ways of expressing myself. What worked for me in the end was making sure to 'bring with me' the things I had discovered through Goth culture that I still enjoy - music, cool boots, certain films, dark literature and many other things - and also not to dismiss that part of my past. Just because something wasn't permanent doesn't mean it wasn't interesting or fun or exciting at the time, and brushing it off as 'a phase' feels like belittling that part of my past and who I was. I try to look fondly on who I was then and who I am now.

Ethical Alternative Clothing

One thing that really surprised me when I started trying to shop more ethically was that the alternative clothing market, generally speaking, is no better than the rest of the fast fashion brigade. With the exception of a handful of notable brands, clothes marketed to consumers who want to stand out from wearers of 'mainstream' fashion are produced in the same environmentally unfriendly ways and in the same brutal conditions as other big-name companies. Hopefully this is an area where we will begin to see change, as we all become more aware of where and how our clothes are made, and as more and more consumers begin to speak up.

I must admit, I find it really ironic - and annoying - that clothes marketed towards the peace-loving hippie, the fiercely creative goth or the anti-capitalist punk are often produced in ways that are the antithesis of all those values. From ripping off indie designers and artists (Dollskill) to mass-produced punk clothing (what is the actual point?!), styles that were once proudly handmade or stood for something genuinely radical have become yet more fodder for the great consumption machine.

I kind of didn't get for a long time how radical were the advent of hippie and then punk fashion, but when I started to understand that before the sixties there was essentially one correct way for women (and men) to be attired within the boundaries of one's social class, defined for you right down to your hairstyle, make-up and undergarments, I began to see how shocking a statement the miniskirt and Mohawk really were. 

It seems to me that very little in fashion is genuinely shocking now (when I first dyed my hair blue, aged twelve, a lot of people pointed or gawked, which seems hard to imagine nowadays! Teenage me would have been very, very excited about the rainbow of make-up and hair colours that are now readily available on the high street), and the boundaries between what is 'mainstream' and what is 'alternative' seem to be getting blurry. Alternative, now, just seems to mean doing a different kind of consumption. You buy from Killstar instead of ASOS, Camden Market instead of Selfridges. But it's still about having a certain look, and about consuming, whereas back in the mists of time, those 'alternative' subcultural markers were often a political statement.

It's not that I think being different, or looking different, is only for activists and anarchists. But I find it interesting to note how clothing as a form of cultural shorthand has changed in just a couple of generations, and how pervasive is consumer culture that even the styles of sixties and seventies countercultural movements are now mass-produced.

However, it's not all negative. DIY fashion is still a thing, and there are hundreds, if not thousands of small makers and artisans selling their wares at markets up and down the country, as well as on eBay and Etsy, many of whom source their materials ethically and sustainably and strive to pay a fair wage to their workers. Of course, the second-hand market is a treasure trove for those seeking a more different or unusual look. I've found that since I started to follow bloggers like Sheila Ephemera and Vintage Vixen, I can more easily see potential amongst the charity shop rails. Vix's blog actually helped remind me of what I loved about clothes in the first place. As she says, "I don't follow fashion and if I look ridiculous so what? Not being noticed and blending in with the crowd is my idea of hell." This kind of individual self-expression, the skill and artistic eye required to develop a really unique look, is to my mind much more 'alternative', creative and meaningful than buying an entire outfit from Hell Bunny and calling it a day.

My personal idea of a way of dressing that is alternative in a meaningful way (rather than simply as visual code for Being Different - not a bad thing in itself, but less important to me now than it was ten years ago, and easily subsumed by the modern tidal wave of personal branding) would be something like that expressed by Nimue Brown in her post In Search of Greener Clothes. I've been thinking about this sort of thing as I move from trying not to shop at all to learning to shop mindfully and in moderation - I want to own and wear clothes that make me feel good, that make my heart happy, and I completely identify with Nimue's comment, "I have a horror of looking like the sort of person who has bought all their clothes from a supermarket." 

There's an excellent article about ethical goth clothing on the Domesticated Goth blog, which I recommend for further reading on this subject.

I generally try not to post shopping links on this blog, for what I think are fairly obvious reasons, but a handful of alternative ethical and/or sustainable brands I am generally happy to purchase from are:

Gringo

Wobble and Squeak

Wanderlust and Faeriedust

Celtic Fusion Design (although I'm getting towards the top end of their sizing, which is a bit of a shame)

Gippies range by GutsyGingers (their own designs - the name 'Gippies' being a blend of goth and hippie)

AltShop UK

MoonMaiden

I haven't personally purchased from these (yet), but my research also turned up the following:

Foxblood

Church of Sanctus

The Last Kult

Holy Clothing

Noctex

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.

Diderot's Dressing Gown: The Answer To the Question, "Why Am I Like This?"

For a long time, one of my greatest frustrations has been this ridiculous way of thinking I have, whereby my style, appearance, wardrobe, preferences and identity are all tied up in one enormous, oddly-shaped, possibly ticking parcel, onto which I become desperate to stick a label.

 "Ah..." says my brain. "I see you are admiring those patterned harem pants. This means you must be a HIPPY. Come now, cast aside your former identity as a non-hippy, put on this patchouli and go out and buy some bangles forthwith."

However, on the way to the bangle shop (bear with me, kids), I am tempted by a velvet cloak and some mugwort tea.

 "Ah..." says brain. " I was mistaken before. You are in fact a PAGAN. Come now, cast aside those harem pants and let us seek some altar statues and medieval gowns."

On the way to the medieval tailor I stop to admire a pair of combat boots.

 "Ah..." says brain. "It appears you are a GOTH..."

And so on. You get the picture. I have this whole mishmash of things I'm into, but my brain would really rather it not be a mishmash, and instead be a nicely defined category with a set of convenient searchable keywords. Whatever new item I'm most in love with suddenly becomes The! Defining! Piece!, and I immediately want a completely new wardrobe (personality/bookshelf/living space) that channels the same vibe. Given that in my time I have run the gamut from dreadlocked hippy to befanged goth chick and back again via a brief dalliance with pink velour tracksuits and furry moon boots (what can I say, I'm changeable), this gets very old. And tiring. And confusing. Not to mention expensive.

Turns out there's a name for this kind of thinking, and it's not actually uncommon, although my brain's fetish for alternative lifestyle niches that may or may not exist ('granny punk' was a descriptor I once briefly used, for example) may not be typical. 

Allow me to Wikipedia at you: "The Diderot effect is a social phenomenon related to consumer goods. It is based on two ideas. The first idea is that goods purchased by consumers will align with their sense of identity, and, as a result, will complement one another. The second idea states that the introduction of a new possession that deviates from the consumer's current complementary goods can result in a process of spiraling consumption."

Boom.

You can actually see the Diderot effect working on me in the second half of this post I wrote in April. The term comes from this dude Diderot, a French philosopher, who several hundred years ago was given a new dressing gown. In comparison to this new item, the rest of his stuff started to seem lacklustre, inelegant, tacky. Diderot replaced his straw armchair with a newer, swankier model in Moroccan leather. Then he got a new writing table to replace his old desk. And so on, and so on... until he ended up in debt.

"I was absolute master of my old dressing gown," Diderot lamented, "but I have become a slave to my new one."

Grant McCracken, who coined the term 'Diderot effect', also spoke about 'Diderot unities'. This is similar to the way my brain clumps consumer goods together under basic labels: goth stuff, hippie stuff and so on. Most of your stuff will quite possibly represent your preferred Diderot unity - this is what you might think of as 'your style'. 

"A Diderot unity is a group of objects that are considered to be culturally complementary, in relation to one another. We as consumers, strive towards unity in appearance and representation of one’s self-image and social role. However, it can also mean that if a beautiful object deviant from the preferred Diderot unity is acquired, it may have the effect of causing us to start subscribing to a completely different Diderot unity," says this article. This sounds rather similar indeed to my bewildered bouncing from style to style over the last decade and a half.

Happily, the above-linked article also has some suggestions on how to defeat the Diderot effect - most of which are markedly similar to those I have blundered into through trial and error throughout my shopping ban attempts, including:

- Unsubscribe from marketing emails

- If you need to buy something, e.g. new clothing, make sure it works with your existing stuff

- Don't browse shopping websites

- Hang out with your friends somewhere that is not a shopping centre

For myself, I'm hopeful that just knowing the Diderot effect is at work, and being able to recognise it, will help to negate its power.

So there you have it. Learn from my mistakes, and those of a French philosopher in the 1700s: don't be a slave to your dressing gown.

Avoiding Pagan Posturing in the Age of the Insta-Witch

I mean to tread lightly with this post; it's not my intent to offend anyone, and it's important to remember that I don't actually know the thoughts or intentions of other individuals and therefore can only pass conjecture on what I have observed. However, as someone with a (disturbingly) deep-rooted interest in style, personal image and how the above manifest in our bizarre social-media-driven consumer society, this topic is of great interest to me!

I was musing recently on how I'd managed to go from the relatively simple concept of a shopping ban to finding myself interested in Earth-based spirituality and considering a course in Druidry over the space of two years. But actually when I looked back it was quite easy to track the progression, a sort of spiralling journey from needing to do something to take my mind off shopping and get out of my own noggin; spending more time outside; falling back in love with the Earth and trying to live greener; taking up foraging and gardening, as well as environmental campaigning, which made me feel more and more connected to the Earth. This sense of connectedness then led me to start exploring Paganism - and here we are. Adding a spiritual or philosophical element to the green(ish) life, for me, helps to make it even more meaningful and fulfilling. The mythopoetic worldview (Sharon Blackie describes the mythic imagination here) ties into my lifelong love of the imagination and the liminal, and my staunch belief that all we can perceive with our limited human senses is far from being all there is.

However, knowing my tendency to cling to labels, not to mention my propensity for theatricality (I was goth for the better part of a decade - being at least a little bit theatrical is practically a job description), I determined to be slow and methodical about my studies, to make sure that what I was doing felt right for me and aligned with my actual lived experience (you can tell me all you want that amethyst and clear quartz are good for headaches, for example, and maybe for some people they are, but I might as well rub a custard cream on my forehead for all the good it does. Just because something is written in a book doesn't make it true for me). 

I also didn't want to do what I often do and believe everything I read without question, especially on the internet. Accepting an animistic worldview is an easy step for me - hello, I am a person who, as a child, brought home sticks that 'looked lonely' - I'm pretty much there already. However, I'm not going to go 'full Glastonbury' as Dai calls it and start thinking I'm a starseed. Reminder to brain: believing some stuff that makes sense to you and fits with what you know and have experienced does not equal believing everything ever espoused by anyone who owns a pentacle necklace. In the age of self-publishing on Kindle, one must have a pinch of salt ever at the ready.

But it's that theatrical tendency I'm particularly on guard against. I've mentioned before that my previous forays into Paganism have been accompanied by much swishing of velvet and esoteric jewellery. I love the look, and I'm really only ever a heartbeat away from putting on elf ears and a flower crown and flouncing into the sunset in a flutter of tie dye and a jingle of silvery bells. What I didn't want to do this time around was buy into a Pagan 'image' without doing any real work, confusing witchcraft with shopping (to paraphrase Terry Pratchett); or worse, spend time on social media showing all my friends how earthy and spiritual I am... 

This is where I need to watch my step. I understand that for many people, online communities, based around social media or otherwise, are very valuable. This is just as true within the Pagan community (the Resistance Witches with the 'Hex Trump' campaign are a memorable recent example!). And by no means does enjoying fashion (of any kind) or posting a selfie mean that someone is not participating in something real or valuable or meaningful. 

But I have found that for me personally, it detracts. Maintaining an image, whether through fashion or an Instagram feed, takes energy, time and work. Energy, time and work that I could better use studying, or writing, improving my focus, tending my herbs (or my son), or just going down to the river and spending some time in nature. If I break away from that to craft a good photo, my focus is split; I am not as peaceful, the connection falters; some of the benefit is lost. Likewise if I am worrying about my hair, or concerned about snagging my skirt.

Dai and I also saw, on our last trip to Glastonbury, a fair amount of what Dai describes as 'Insta-witches' - a lot of the more 'mystical' areas in the village, such as the beautiful Chalice Well, were surrounded by people taking photos for social media - we couldn't actually get near the Well on that particular visit as two women had colonised the area to set up a jewellery display which they were photographing. And we queued for half an hour to drink from the Red Spring as we had to wait for another bevy of phone-clutching mystics to finish setting up crystal grids and photographing their bare feet. (Please see my opening remarks about not actually knowing what other people are doing. I don't intend to cast aspersions or be snarky! But from an observer's perspective, it seemed... like posturing?)

It certainly got me thinking about my own approach - I really want to avoid taking a sort of Anne Gwish approach to spirituality ('being myself, as long as it looks good and people are watching'). 

I've been reading a book by Penny Billington called The Path of Druidry, and when I read some online reviews I noted that some people were irritated by a remark she makes in one of the early chapters: "A Druid should fit in, should be able to be invisible; that's what gives us the freedom to get on with our work. [...] Being self-consciously eccentric as a way of life is like trying to appear wise - it takes too much energy away from what Druid life and work are all about."

Now, I can totally see why some people found this irritating - 'fitting in' isn't really something I'm big on either. But my daily nature-walking wear of jeans and t-shirts is, well, pretty invisible. And for me, this was such a refreshing thing to read - an instant antidote to the itchy eBay bidding finger (step away from the Jordash dresses). 

I am someone who was recently described by a dear friend as "a New Age hippy... I think of you like one of those paper dolls, you mix it up and try different things, but your base setting is hippy fairy". (Naturally I'm delighted by this description.) So, believe me when I say, I can EASILY devote my time to being 'self-consciously eccentric'. I could start my own IG account of woodland selfies where I never look directly at the camera because I'm very mysterious and bohemian, or rip up flowers and fungi so I can take a photo of my hand holding them (I found a great post about this on an old blog by Grace Nuth - totally worth a read). Or, I can dress in a way that's pleasing enough, comfortable, and still allows me to tromp through muddy fields, and just get on with it! It was a RELIEF to have it spelt out for me that clothes do not maketh the Druid. It may not be even vaguely an issue for those who do not have my preoccupation with style and shopping, but it was a huge deal for me.

I've decided that balance is, as it often is, the key. My dramatic skirts have their place - when we visit our favourite canalside Pagan pub for a pint of ale, or roaming the streets of Burley or Glastonbury. But when I want to be able to crawl into hedges, cross streams or move through woodland, it's sensible coat and shoes all the way. This probably seems really obvious to you! But I, for whatever reason (gothy theatrical tendencies?) benefit from a reminder.

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.

What Would You Do Differently If You Loved Yourself?

For the first time in... Okay, possibly ever, I have less than 120 items in my wardrobe. That's not counting coats, shoes or bags. By some people's standards, this is an awful lot. I am certainly very privileged, to have so much. And by others' standards, this is hardly anything at all.

To me, it feels about right. Enough for variety, to be creative in how I put things together, but not enough to overflow my storage and become unmanageable. I'm doing the little trick of turning the hanger around after I wear an item, so that I can double-check that everything I've kept is pulling its weight.

This is a massive improvement on my wardrobe situation this time last year. However, I have identified two issues that I need to take in hand.

1. I'm not being very kind to myself

I often talk about wanting to be able to be creative with my wardrobe, but I'm not actually doing that. 

Eliminating the clothes I didn't like but was keeping - and wearing - to avoid being wasteful was a good first step; now I need to tackle the other end of the equation and start making the effort to put myself together in a way that feels good to me. Not the current situation where I scrape my hair back into a frumpy low ponytail, throw on the nearest clean-smelling jeans and tee, and go, only to soldier through the day trying to ignore the fact that I feel crap.

To Buy or Not To Buy talks about self-kindness and self-care - not necessarily the fun kind like taking bubble baths, but making those appointments you keep putting off, keeping your living space clean and tidy, giving yourself time, space and tools for creativity and play, and (in my case) using the correct toothpaste for my sensitive teeth even though it's not the cheapest, drinking water - not just coffee - and changing my outfit if I don't like it instead of forcing myself to wear it anyway (because I'm an eco-conscious mum and therefore must not care about my appearance? Or something equally nonsensical).

I've fairly recently started to be able to wear jewellery again - without fear of the Spud ripping my ears off or breaking my necklaces - and it's made such a difference to how good I feel when I make the effort. And it's lovely to rediscover all my favourite pieces. But more importantly it's proof of how the littlest effort can have a huge effect on how I feel.

Taking half an hour in the mornings to do my hair and make-up isn't going to make me a bad mum. (Although the two-year-old is currently wearing blush and gold eyeshadow because he wanted to be involved. He chose the colours himself.) I have always enjoyed expressing myself through clothes and style - when it's because I want to, not because I feel like I have to - and I hope that I have the experience now to not let shopping for new things become the aim, but to be creative and thoughtful with what I have.

It also wouldn't hurt to take the odd bubble bath (something I've let slip since Dai's been working longer hours) and to take a bit more time to do things like shave my legs or paint my nails - things I have avoided doing, as a kind of reaction to my previous ultra-high-maintenance existence, but would actually quite like to do (I'm also looking forward to being able to re-book my cancelled treatment at the Lush spa once things are back to some kind of post-COVID normal). No one's handing out prizes for Martyr of the Month, and life's too short not to at least try to enjoy being in your own skin.

Which leads me to:

2. I have become a fearful dresser

Before I deleted Instagram, every now and again someone I vaguely knew from my old blog would pop up to tell me they liked what I wore better when I was goth. I used to tell them in no uncertain terms that their opinion on the way I dress was less than relevant. 

However, this year I realised with dawning horror that I don't really dress for me any more, either, and I've given the opinions of strangers far too much relevance - even control.

This is partly to do with where I live - a small, conservative southern town. As a goth I used to get a lot of attention, both positive (little old ladies wanting to touch my poofy blue deathhawk, being photographed by art students) and negative (spitting, throwing things, insults). When I moved on from that style, it was a relief to feel more like a private person and to have a bit of anonymity. 

Unfortunately, this feeling of anonymity eventually became a bit of a rut I was stuck in, helped along by a lack of confidence, comparing myself negatively to every woman I saw, and a weird feeling after reading too many fashion books, blogs and articles that there was a secret fashion police who might be summoned if I dared to wear the 'wrong' thing. (An annoyingly precocious child in a playground did once threaten to "call the fashion police" on me. I was wearing New Rock boots, ripped fishnets, and a black corset and frilly skirt, both trimmed in hot pink lace. I was on my way to a doctor's appointment; that was my version of casual.)

The items I purchased in Glastonbury reminded me that I didn't always dress to be invisible. Whilst I think my days of corsets-as-casual-wear are probably done, if I'd lived in Glasto for the last decade - or Brighton, or London - the way I dress now would probably be quite different. I love the clothes that I have, but I'm aware I often talk myself out of buying anything too 'out there'. 

I really want to channel that less self-conscious, more creative version of me into future purchases (which will be CAREFULLY chosen to work with my existing wardrobe and SLOWLY acquired according to space constraints and budget. And prevented from ever again being the be-all and end-all - I once wore fishnet tights, a faux fur coat and a full face of make-up to go to the beach, and I won't be returning to being that anxious person, unable to let go and take part in things, like a big decorative doll). In the meantime, I'm really enjoying taking a fresh look at my wardrobe, and putting together outfits that actually make me feel good. 

Gala Darling says a brilliant thing in her book Radical Self-Love, which I'll have to paraphrase from memory because I lent it to a friend (two years ago, hun, just saying): "What would you do differently if you loved yourself?" Asking this question has changed my life, from getting out of bad relationships to getting off the sofa to drink some water and go outside. Next, it's going to help me embrace who I am inside and stop telling myself I can't wear this or that because it's too fanciful, too daring, too bright, too dark, too masculine, too feminine, too weird, too dramatic, too basic, too noticeable. Because I do love myself, and I don't need to be invisible any more.

However, A Caveat

Once I'd been making more effort with my wardrobe, hair and make-up for a few days, I realised why I'd downgraded these things so dramatically on my priority list in the first place. On day one, I spent almost all day browsing shopping sites, daydreaming about what I would buy next. On day two, I'd noticed the drift back to shopping so I put my tablet away and went out for walks with the Spud, but I wasn't really present or focused - I was trying not to mess my hair up and planning future outfits in my head.

By day three I was cross with myself. I'm not sure why I find it so hard to get this particular balance right, but I could understand why I'd forced myself to stop caring about my looks - to make room for other things. I think this is my ideal next step - I like to try to dress in a creative way, so I need to make sure I'm actually reflecting that in the way I live my life. Doing before dressing, so to speak - I must make time for writing, doodling, knitting, trying new recipes, long walks and dancing. I also must not discount comfort in favour of style - I love my New Rock boots, but they're not great for playing with the Spud outside as they're heavy and sometimes rub a bit. So I need to make sure I dress for what I'm doing, which sometimes means an anorak and wellies whether my 'personal style' likes that or not.

So I had never intended to be unkind to myself. I'd shoved my fashion obsession out of my head to make room for the rest of my life. Now, my goal (because I love myself) is to dress in a way that I'm happy with WITHOUT OBSESSING. Just get dressed in the morning, smile at the end result in the mirror... and go do stuff. Step one: plan some exciting stuff to do.

Just a little note to say, I am away this fortnight, leaving early tomorrow, so I may be a little late to respond to comments on this post! Many thanks for your understanding. Normal service will resume upon my return.

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.