Lessons From A Style Icon... Me, Aged Nine

I originally intended this post to be a light-hearted and humorous look at my childhood fashion sense, but when I broke out my mum's photo albums to get some ideas, I was surprised to find that to the eyes of my adult self, I wasn't the style disaster I seemed to remember. With one or two exceptions, notably when I started to approach my teen years and started to seek out weird items for the sake of weirdness itself, I actually really liked the items my younger self chose and the way I put them together.

I started to think, perhaps the problem isn't my tendency to drift towards the quirky and eclectic, but simply the fact that I haven't allowed that inner style to grow and mature. I seem to think the options are 'dress exactly as I would have dressed circa age ten' or 'morph into someone else'. I wondered, would it not be possible to take such style staples as tie dye dungarees, paisley harem pants and bags made of rainbow fun fur, and use them to create a look that is just a little more polished... but still, essentially, me? I've been trying to make myself stay the same as I would have at eighteen (or even eight), but eight-year-old me would have relished the opportunities I have as a grown woman to expand my repertoire, style different things in different ways, be elegant or glamorous. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to stagnate out of fear and self-consciousness. I feel like it's time for me to accept my true tastes on the one hand, but also to let myself grow and appreciate the stage of life I'm in.

My childhood outfits and individual item choices were not nearly as bad as I had thought. The problems, such as they were, only came when my criteria changed from a simple 'I like this', to 'this is really weird, I'd better get it'. This is similar to something I find myself doing now when I worry about whether my look is still recognizably 'alternative'. So the lesson for me here is to let these kinds of distinctions go, and to recentre the simple question, 'how much do I really like it?'. 

One thing I really miss from my childhood outfits was that I didn't ever feel like I often do now, as though there's a right and a wrong way to put together an outfit. Sometimes I find this feeling so paralyzing that instead I don't bother and just sling on whatever's clean. It's not so much a feeling that other people will judge me, but that I can never quite reach an image in my head, so that however hard I try, I can still catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window and feel gut-punched - all that time on hair, make-up and styling and I still don't like the way I look. Why make the effort, if I'm going to feel rubbish anyway? 

Yet as a younger person, I always enjoyed the outfits I put together and felt like a badass in them. So why had I developed this negative perception of my own style and stopped trusting my own judgement on clothes? I can't say for sure, but I do remember that secondary school was a bit of a shock to the system. Before that I had muddled along happily enough in a village primary that wasn't really big enough to have an 'in crowd' and an 'out crowd'. My taste was already verging on the wacky - I do remember turning up to a school fete, aged nine or ten, with crimped hair, silver-blue lipstick, gold moon and star earrings, hiking boots, and a black faux leather high-collared mini dress with a chunky zip down the front. I don't remember anyone commenting, either, which tells me I might already have had a reputation for somewhat theatrical outfit choices. I love the confidence I had back then. I thought I looked cool in what I was wearing so I just assumed that everyone else did too.

Secondary school was very different. It turned out that the popular kids didn't much like my look, and whenever I made choices that I thought would impress them, I ended up making it worse. I got this electric blue pleather jacket that I thought was absolutely the bee's knees - it got worn once, as I was laughed out of the cafeteria. So I plumped for the total opposite - a cream corduroy trench - and got picked on for that instead. My hair cuts were even worse. In the early 2000s, I was taking my inspiration from the media I loved, so one summer holiday I opted for the hairstyle Mary Stuart Masterson had in the film Some Kind of Wonderful. I guess my peer group weren't enjoying 80s teen romances during their holidays, as the reaction when we went back to school was... not good. Even some of my friends would ring me up and let me know I'd been seen on the weekend "wearing black tights with a tweed miniskirt and white running shoes - what were you thinking?!" or, in a dubious voice, "my mum said you were dressed... sort of funky." I ended up feeling that I couldn't get it right. It never occurred to me to just do what everyone else was doing - I think I'm actually grateful for that character trait.

But even if I had been the worst-dressed child in the history of the planet Earth, why did I feel that that affected my ability to dress myself as an adult? Loads of us have some regrettable style choices in our pasts and dodgy photos in our family albums. Children aren't supposed to be miniature style icons, after all - they're supposed to be kids, snot-nosed, grubby, and covered in mud. But speaking personally, I chose my own clothes from a very young age. My mum often reiterates that I wasn't interested in fashion as a child, but that's not quite the full story. I wasn't interested in how other people saw me, but very early on, I really loved clothes. I fell in love with fabrics and prints, I pored over catalogues, I loved raking through the aisles at Tammy Girl. I wrote detailed outfit ideas and packing lists in my diaries. It never occurred to me that clothes expressed something about me to other people - I just knew that they made me happy.

I get a similar feeling looking through these old photos as I do from street style sites with a certain aesthetic, like Hel Looks and NYC Looks. I don't necessarily like all the looks, although some are very inspiring to me, but I feel like they have the same vibrancy and playfulness. I also love reading the little snippets about what inspired each style or outfit, and I get lots of ideas for new ways to layer and put together outfits with what I already own.

Sometimes lately I've been convinced that a makeover, or a final, curated iteration of 'my personal style', will make me happier and more confident. But I've also noticed that everyone claiming that the right clothes will change my life is also selling a book, or a course, or a series of personal styling Zoom sessions, etc, etc. I remain unconvinced by any style guide that breaks women into categories (Timeless Classic! Eccentric Vintage! Androgyne!) or provides a one-size-fits-all list of things everyone's wardrobe should have.

The "life-changing makeover/style is important because it controls how other people see you" narrative is very alluring - much like a diet. I want to believe that my most contented, ideal self is only a personal styling session away. But honestly? I'm starting to think it might be bullshit. This makeover narrative fuels everything from personal shoppers' careers to reality TV, and seems to bring women so much joy and confidence, and yet I'm starting to wonder if the whole concept is a con, a scam designed to make the already-insecure feel dissatisfied with what we have. I've changed my whole appearance a lot of times, and still felt not pretty enough, not cool enough, not enough in general. I'm beginning to doubt that 'becoming stylish' will make me any happier. I don't always feel great in my clothes, but maybe I need to try changing the feelings, not the wardrobe.

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.

Rewilding in 2022: 2nd Progress Report - Touching the Wild

This season, I went vegetarian. I'd been kicking the idea around for a while, and my close friend Alice stopped eating meat after working in packing for an online food shop over Christmas and being slightly freaked out by the vast scale of naked, shrink-wrapped poultry she was faced with night after night. I'd tried to cut down my meat for a while, but found that, in a bid to prove to Dai that I wasn't 'depriving myself', the consequence was that I actually ended up eating more meat.

Then I took the Spud to visit some farm animals. The Spud has this real thing about sheep, and after a morning of watching him cuddle the lambs and brush their soft baby fleeces and feed them a milk bottle... Well, I was ruined for the Sunday roast, that was for sure. It's not been an easy adjustment in a mixed household where we generally all eat together, but I just can't eat meat any more, so we'll have to get to grips with it.

It could be argued that a vegetarian diet doesn't work well alongside a plan to rewild. Our ancestors, and many indigenous peoples around the world, of course eat meat, and any attempt to hark back to a less artificially complex, less industrialised lifestyle would surely involve some sustainable meat or game? I can see the logic in this argument, but even if I wanted to keep eating dead creatures for my own sensory pleasure, which I don't, we are also facing a looming climate crisis, and as an environmentalist I really can't justify personally eating meat either. So. There we go. I guess it's a modern, millennial kind of rewilding that I am doing here. But I'll take it!

Leena Norms has an absolutely fab, entirely non-judgemental, non-pushy video which sums up a lot of my reasoning around choosing this diet - here it is. 

One conflict I had this season was fairly laughable. In general we're not a daytime TV household, but I found that when I wanted to roll out my yoga mat in the morning, the best way to avoid being maimed by a toddler trying to "help" me into my poses was to flick Bluey on for half an hour. Except, when I then wanted to turn Bluey off again so we could get on with our day, all hell broke loose. Navigating the storms of tantrums and tears each morning made the yoga practice much less relaxing than it should have been (and the sound of Bluey and Bingo chirping away in the background was surprisingly hard to tune out during savasana), but I had noticed a difference in my strength and flexibility after only a few weeks of fairly disciplined home practice, and really wanted to keep going with it. Attempts to encourage the Spud into the garden or sandpit instead were met with dismissal on all but the sunniest of days. I'll let you know if I ever find a solution to this one!

On the topic of the garden, my feral approach to gardening was providing some interesting results. In the spring we discovered that our garden was full of bluebells, and I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't just gone blundering in and weeded away everything in sight. It was also full of stinging nettles, but I was quite reluctant to pull those out, much to the confusion of visitors, as I had read that they're an important habitat for caterpillars and butterflies.

Our bird feeder had finally caught on amongst the local bird community, and we were welcoming blue tits, robins, blackbirds, and a variety of little brown guys that I'm not quick enough to tell apart. Unfortunately, the birds also ate our peas and beans, and the feeder also attracted a sleek, golden-brown rat, who at time of writing has taken up residence under our shed and can often be seen sitting beside our humane rat trap with what I'm certain is amusement. I know rats in the garden aren't ideal, but I'm reluctant to introduce poison into the environment, especially with my child around. It's also not the rat's fault we don't want it there, so we're persevering with humane traps and deterrents for now. We also have a resident hedgehog, which really surprised me as we live quite centrally in town and border a busy road. And a squirrel who races through the trees every morning as if commuting to work. 

Unfortunately we also have a large number of field mice, who set up camp in the house (and ate my husband's Easter eggs, much to his disappointment) - we tried catching them and releasing them far away, but they bred faster than we could trap them. Eventually we found ourselves adopting two lovely cats from someone who couldn't keep them any more. Dai mainly wanted a rodent deterrent, as sweeping up mouse poo is no one's idea of a good time. The Spud and I were excited to have family pets to stroke and fuss over. So everyone wins.

Social media has been my biggest bugbear lately. I've now got two different apps on my phone to try to help me manage my usage, and I find that I'm either turning them off, uninstalling them when they prove inconvenient, or simply opening social media in my tablet browser. This is such a big step backwards and I'm really not enjoying it. I don't want to be the kind of person who chooses their destinations by what will make the best photo. I don't like courting followers, and in all honesty I'm slightly alarmed by my propensity for oversharing. A lot of my close friends have recently stopped using Facebook and Instagram, just as I'm probably the most active I've ever been, and I'm steeling myself to follow their example. I might lose followers. I might lose book sales. But if I carry on on this trajectory, I feel I'm losing a lot more than that.

It's not all bad news though. The defining event of this season for me was my long-anticipated wedding. It was a glorious day, made even more special by the people who came together to share the celebration with us, and on a very personal note it was really the first time I was able to see how far I've come since starting this blog. I never realised that reducing my consumption was going to be a personal development project more than a financial one, and yet over the last couple of years my confidence has skyrocketed. I've learned that no one is watching and judging me because everyone is busy judging and monitoring themselves. I've learned that perfection is overrated and boring. And I'm lucky enough to be surrounded and loved by people who are supportive, open, free-spirited and kind. 

When I realised I couldn't dance in my wedding gown I changed into a vest top and harem pants. My bra had carved red divots around my ribcage, so I decided 'sod it' and took it off. I then spent the evening dancing with my friends, or by myself, without fear or self-consciousness. At one point, on my way to the toilets, I heard the throb of music from up a flight of stairs and followed it to find a live band in the building next door, where I danced with strangers on a floor strewn with golden stars.

On the weekend of our wedding, I walked barefoot on new territory. I worked a lock on the canal. I stood atop a long barrow and felt the wind stream through my hair. I saw my friends' faces bathed in firelight; I felt the prick of bird claws on my hands and legs; I drank mead with Druids; did yoga in a yurt; danced the Macarena with a flock of Goths.

I have tasted the wild. I have found the bigger life that waited on the other side of my inhibitions. 

Dai's interest in history has helped me widen my horizons, connect to the landscape, and begin to see my home country in new ways. Parenthood has changed my sense of self and taught me the breadth and depth of my endurance and strength. Growing older has taught me about seizing the moment and forging memories with those we love. Trying to reduce my consumption has led me to an animistic worldview and re-engaged my creativity.

Now that I have touched the edges of the kind of life I want to be living, I am more determined than ever to get there. I love the person I am becoming, and I am so excited to see what comes next.

Inspirational reads this season:

Strong, Calm and Free by Nicola Jane Hobbs

Dandelion Hunter by Rebecca Lerner

Going Zero by Kate Hughes

Sustainable Minimalism by Stephanie Marie Seferian

The Planet-Friendly Kitchen by Karen Edwards

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. 

Lessons, Thoughts and Inspiration From My 30-Day Reset

Zero Waste Style

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

Clutter and Emotional Labour

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

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

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

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

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

Environmentalism, Joy and Style

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

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

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

Learning To Trust Myself

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

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

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

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

This blue bob was epic. And extremely blue

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

My Love Affair With Old Clothes

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

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

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

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

Charity shop cardigans mended with patches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Decluttering Regret and Charity Shop Rules

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thou Shalt Not Spend Silly Money

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some of those upgraded coping mechanisms are as follows:

1. Nature

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Creative living

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Gratitude

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

4. Savouring

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

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

5. Authenticity

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

6. Randomness

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

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

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.

Why I'm Grateful For My Clutter

A Sudden Desire For Less

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

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

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

A Different Tack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Eco Thrift Crusade

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

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

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

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

The Happiness Project

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

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

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

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

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

Spark Joy

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

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

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

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

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

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