Style is About Creativity, Not Cash

On making do.

It took me over a decade to go from spender to saver. My weakness was clothes. I loved bold colours, fell hard for anything vintage. I scooped up dresses in thrift stores for a fiver apiece and spent happy evenings flipping through eBay. I thought that I was good with money because I shopped second-hand. But really, I was thousands in the red.

There is no magic cure for overspending — only a long hard look in the mirror. When I wanted to get smart about my finances, I had to admit that I had spent all that money trying to shop my way into a better, more satisfying, less ordinary existence. Shopping was easier than changing.

By the age of thirty, though, I had dealt with my debt and bought my own flat. I had a good job and a fuck-off fund that felt like a warm hug every time I thought of it. It was hard work, and I’d had a few mad shopping flare-ups along the way, but I had changed what needed changing. I’d turned that unsatisfying life into one that I was proud of. I have buckets of enthusiasm in reserve for anyone starting out on the path to financial safety, for this is the unglamorous work of adulthood. This is about learning to be in charge.

There was just one catch. I looked a mess.

I had got my finances under control, but at the expense of my style. I was busy and keen to earn and bump up my savings, and I had no head-space left over to put together on-point outfits. Style was for people with too much time on their hands, I told myself. My wardrobe was stuffed with my past fashion outbursts, but it was all old and tatty now, and not really appropriate for my day to day life. The winter I turned thirty-one, I I relied heavily on one high-necked, long-sleeved grey dress. Most mornings I just threw on this comfortable tent, added black boots and tights, and rushed out the door.

It wasn’t only out of pride that I decided to work on my appearance. Mostly it was a feeling that something was missing. I wanted to recapture some of the pleasure I had once taken in clothes, and honestly, I just wanted to look as good as I felt. I wanted the outside to match the inside. Enter the capsule wardrobe.

The idea was popularised by Donna Karan with her “7 easy pieces”, a 1985 monochrome ode to simplicity. The dream it promised was that women could at last stop faffing with their clothes, so they could take over the world. Or at least the boardroom.

Well, I didn’t think the boardroom had anything to worry about, but I certainly needed to stop faffing with my clothes so much. I liked the idea of less laundry and less worry. I Googled around for creative inspiration, ignoring any websites that pushed capsule wardrobes as a shopping opportunity. I found on the Vivienne Files the wonderful Start With Art series, which takes a painting and builds a capsule around it. One of my favourite paintings is “La Mariée” by Marc Chagall. It is almost all a rich indigo blue, with swathes of red, white, grey-green and sunflower yellow — a strange dreamy picture, serene and romantic. As a pale Scot in a cold climate, I hoped the rich turbulence of these colours would bring a little warmth.

Next, I checked in with my full-length mirror and made some lists. I realistically assessed what suited my shape, which is on the curvy, not-too-tall side (hello fifties cuts, farewell sixties smocks). I packed up all the unworkable clothes that had languished in my room and took them to thrift stores. I then wrote down all the kinds of outfits I would need in reality. Not so many roller-skating parties, more work meetings. The wardrobe had to last through all the kinds of days that make up all the years ahead. It all had to go reasonably well together, so I could grab an outfit in a rush. It had to feel nice and make me happy. I needed at least one fancy-outing frock.

I tried as far as possible to create a capsule from what I already had — using blues and dark greys as a base, with accents of red (a scarf) and yellow (amber earrings). I spotted a few gaps and added three new purchases from second-hand stores: a pair of proper lace-up shoes, a cropped black knit jumper, and a cashmere cardigan in that Chagall blue — total spend £37. Then I was ready to go.

Now I wear clothes that I really like, not ‘whatever is clean’. I love getting dressed in the morning now. I don’t stress about it. I have more space in my room and in my life. I did not sink back into my shopaholic ways once I started to care about clothes again; quite the opposite. Really looking at the clothes I owned has helped me to appreciate the materials, the industry of other people that went into the making of my garments, and the ingenuity of particular designs. My Jaegar A-line skirt, hand-made in England, has the most perfect stitching I’ve ever seen. Who knows how old it is — but it’s still going strong. My wardrobe is a heap of good fortune. I have everything I need and more.

A wardrobe is never just a wardrobe. It’s a boost to wellbeing, a daily pleasure, and undoubtedly, a privilege. I take comfort in knowing I can safely stay away from the shops for years to come. When an outfit I wore got a compliment from a friend I counted that as proof positive — style is about creativity, not cash.

Amy Jardine is a writer based in Scotland. Read more at www.amyjardine.com or follow her on Twitter @amyrrebecca

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