Fancy Pants: St. John Knit Trousers

Big news: I got dressed the other day. It only lasted a couple of hours, and I of course didn’t leave the house, but the experience was positively exhilarating.

The impetus for this anomaly was the delivery of a recent purchase I made from Thredup: a pair of navy blue, Santana-knit, wool-blend pants by St. John. I’d ordered these pants about a week prior when I saw something similar on Instagram.

Cashmere pants, or “sweater pants,” have had a kind of surge since COVID began and working from home became the norm. Originally seen as pajama pants, they seemed to cross over into daywear as the pandemic progressed. Slave to comfort that I am, I took note. After all, I wear a sweater-onesie to exercise in.

And then one day I had a flash of insight— I’d seen these kind of pants before. While selling thrifted clothes on Ebay and studying what types of clothing were big money-makers, I discovered the cult-favorite, St. John sweater pants.

Upon finding a them in thrift stores, I’d always get excited, knowing they’d make a significant profit. There was even one lucky day when I found two pairs in a Salvation Army for a dollar each— not a stain or snag to speak of.

At the time, I found them a bizarre thing to want to buy, and an even more bizarre thing to pay big money for. But researching the brand, I realized just how expensive these things are brand new: $495 a pair. Suddenly it didn’t seem so strange to be able to charge $100 for them secondhand.

There are a number of styles of St. John knit pants— wide-leg, straight-leg, flat-front, pleat-front, etc. But the most common desirable feature seems to be that they are made of “Santana knit”— an important Ebay keyword.

From the resale site FineClothing.com

I never tried on any of those St. John pants that I sold on Ebay, so I still didn’t quite get the allure. Why were rich ladies so into these? Well, let me tell you, because I’ve absolutely crossed over into being one of their super-fans.

First of all, when I ordered these pants from Thredup, I felt like I had made use of some semi-secret knowledge. The kids on Instagram definitely didn’t know about St. John knit pants— their knit pants all came from the British brand Arket or &OtherStories, and cost them a couple hundred quid.

But I managed to find these St. John ones on Thredup for $22.99. While the Ebay options were vast, you simply couldn’t beat the price of these Thredup ones that had fallen through the cracks. I used some credit that I had on Thredup from selling them my old clothes, and they were delivered within the week.

As the days passed between order and delivery, my expectations waned. Surely these were so cheap for a reason. Maybe the owner had thrown them in the washer and dryer, and they were deformed beyond their former glory (St. John knits must be dry-cleaned only, at least according to their website).

But when I opened them up and tried them on, I was pleasantly surprised. First of all, these size 10s were a perfect fit. The waistband was comfortably taut whether I pulled them all the way up to my natural waist or wore them lower down on my hips. The rise was incredibly generous, and the straight-leg, pleat-front style draped beautifully. It looked like I was wearing tailored trousers— there was even a crease down the front of the leg.

I’d been a little unsure of what to pair with navy sweater-pants, but I popped on my navy Ponte-knit swing top and it worked great. As for shoes, my Adidas sneakers seemed my best bet. They gave me a little Florida-retiree vibe (which is actually kind of hip right now), but also gave the pants a bit of an edge.

The pockets were deep and silky, and the hems draped nicely over my shoes. The waistband was a little itchy— they are wool, after all— so I tucked my top in and marveled at how that worked great, too. I got a little chilly while sitting in my office, so I threw on a cardigan. Here, I hesitated: could sweater-on-sweater actually work? Lo and behold, it did. My camel cashmere J. Crew cardigan (also from Thredup) has a very fine weave, while the pants’ weave is thicker and more textured. The contrast in color and texture made it work, so it didn’t look weird at all.

Spurred on by my styling success, I explored St. John’s website, stjohnknits.com. Started in 1962 in California, St. John boasts wearers like Hillary Clinton and Angelina Jolie. Prices range from $495 for a pair of Milano knit pants to $1,595 for a cashmere sweater. I gloated over my bargain find.

I took a break to make a coffee when Matt walked into the kitchen. He was taken aback at finding me in real clothes and asked if he was on the Upper East Side or something. Self-conscious, I demonstrated how deeply I could lunge in my new pants. I then pointed out my round belly beneath the high waistband in another attempt at self-deprecation. But there was no denying that I felt good. I’d made a somewhat risky yet wholly successful purchase.

These pants seemed to change my whole wardrobe. Despite being neither men’s nor wide-leg pants, I felt completely myself in them. I felt like my favorite Instagrammer, Brittany Bathgate, in her tailored trousers— only more comfortable. I felt like Lizzy Hadfield in her cashmere joggers— only more stylish.

While knit pants or “sweater pants” seem to be everywhere right now, from Madewell to Saks Fifth Avenue, St. John has had 60 years to perfect them. From the knit to the drape to the rise to the pleating, these are clearly the winner.

In 2017, when Matt and I were in Germany, I bought my first pair of sweater pants. Made by a plus-size brand called Kekoo, they were on the clearance rack of a TK Maxx (the European TJ Maxx). While no one else seemed to be wearing such a thing, I knew they were onto something.

Upon returning home to the US, I felt they were just too unusual, so I sold them on Ebay. Not only were they sweater-pants, they were also balloon-leg pants, and it just seemed like too much.

But balloon pants are definitely making their way to the mainstream, the same way sweater-pants once did. And some designers have even thought to combine the two styles. It seems like maybe I was just too early— too ahead of the trends in 2017. Maybe I’m just ahead of them now. Maybe St. John will hit Instagram soon.

Crunching Calories and the Leap from the Lion’s Head

We last left off in my weight loss “journey” (god, I hate that word— process? progress?) on October 5th when I weighed in at 147.2 (My First Weigh-In in Six Months). The number has continued on down as follows:

10/31/20: 146.7 (0.5 pounds lost)
11/27/20: 143.6 (3.1 pounds lost)
12/26/20: 140.5 (3.1 pounds lost)
1/23/21: 137.9 (2.6 pounds lost)

Slow and steady, as per usual, but I’ve had to make some major adjustments in my calorie counting along the way.

First, there were the biscuits.

So there are these biscuits: “Anisette Toast” by Rhode Island’s own Catanzaro’s bakery. I love these things. And at only 104 calories each, they’ve been such a great weight-loss snack. They’re like a rather hefty biscotti, and pretty filling for only 100 calories. I’d often have two of them on days I was particularly peckish, and was known to even have four of them on days I’d been awake with insomnia and starving. Then one day I noticed they’d taken the nutrition label off the bag.

Months went by before I investigated further. But when I did, I found that on their website they’d changed the nutrition info, this time specifying a biscuit as 58 grams as opposed to “1 biscuit.” And I was astonished to see that an average 58g biscuit came in at 170 calories.

I weighed biscuits. A lot of them were even bigger than 58g. I went into My Fitness Pal calorie-counting app, scanned the barcode on the bag, and saw that the app still thinks they’re only 104 calories. I just couldn’t deal with this new information, so I remained in denial and went along with what the app said.

That month, a particularly biscuit-heavy month, I only lost half a pound. It had to be the biscuits. This could also explain many other disappointing weigh-ins in the past. So I came to terms with it. I ate fewer biscuits, and when I ate them, they didn’t seem like as much of a caloric bang-for-your-buck at 170 calories. I started adjusting the serving size in the app to make up for the extra calories, and the next month I lost 3.1 pounds.

The following month, I realized I’d made another error in calorie-counting. One day a while back, I didn’t finish my protein shake, so I accounted for 120 calories instead of the usual 160. But then I kept copying that day’s breakfast the whole rest of the month, despite drinking the whole shake every day. It was only a matter of 40 calories a day, as opposed to the 130-260 extra calories from the biscuits, so I still lost 3.1 pounds again when all was said and done.

Which brings us to last month. Last month I realized I was tracking my tofu 25 calories short, and my noodles an additional 25 calories short (I eat both every night for dinner). So I adjusted my numbers yet again.

Now around the same time, a disturbing thing started happening. I started getting hungrier and hungrier. I decided it made sense to allow myself those extra 50 calories I’d been eating for so long, bringing my limit up to 2,050.

But I was still starving. After much deliberation, I decided to increase my limit by another 100 calories, adding some extra yogurt and a little extra oatmeal to my breakfast. It still wasn’t enough. My protein shake lattés every morning just weren’t staving off hunger the way they used to. I suddenly needed my breakfast sooner— and I needed more of it.

It finally dawned on me that this sudden change in physical hunger might have something to do with my meds. I’ve gone up in dose on one of my drugs, and it has a potential side-effect of increased metabolism. If I’m burning more calories, this could explain my raging hunger. I decided to do a little number-crunching to try and figure out just how many calories my body is burning each day.

The month I went from 143.6 pounds down to 140.5 pounds, that was 3.1 pounds lost. With a pound being equivalent to 3,500 calories, I figure I was in a deficit of 3.1 x 3,500 = 10,850 calories for the month. If you divide that deficit by the 29 days between weigh-ins, it comes out to a deficit of 10,850/29 = 374 calories each day. I ate an average of 1886 calories per day that month, so if you add my calories consumed to my caloric deficit you get 1886 + 374 = 2,260 calories burned each day.

This past month, I lost 2.6 pounds. 2.6 pounds x 3,500 calories = a 9,100 calorie deficit for the month. Divide that by the 28 days between weigh-ins and you get a 9,100/28 = 325 calorie deficit per day. I ate an average of 2,055 calories a day that month. If you add that to the deficit, you get 2,055 + 325 = 2,380 calories burned each day.

If you average these two months, it comes to 2,260 + 2,380 = 4,640 4,640/2 = 2,320 calories burned each day.

It all started to make sense. I was in a much bigger deficit than I thought. I gave myself the green light to go up to 2,300 calories a day.

This was not an easy psychological adjustment. I’d been eating at a 2,000 calorie limit for more than 2 years, and I never went over my limit. Granted, there were those days when I went over due to miscalculated biscuits or protein shakes, but I was able to let that go. In my mind, 2,000 was an absolute. But I could not accept the idea of a life where I didn’t eat when I was physically hungry.

I questioned whether I was actually physically hungry. But my stomach cramped, my hands shook, my head hurt— of course I was hungry. I questioned whether this was a gateway to bingeing, if I would lose control and gain all the weight back.

But I was reminded that the point of this diet is not to be as skinny as possible. The point of counting calories is to give me the structure I need to keep from bingeing. Not bingeing is the point. And my weight is secondary.

Historically speaking, 137.9 is a very low weight for me. It would be a perfectly fine weight to remain at for good. Eating these increased calories— eating when I’m hungry— might mean that I don’t lose any more weight. It might even mean that I gain some back. And so I’m trying to be okay with that.

But I still have these fantasies of weighing less. I think of that number 135— the weight I was when Matt and I met— when I was still performing in shows. When I wore a bodysuit to dance rehearsals and felt no shame.

And then there were even lower numbers— 125, maybe. I felt invincible then, like no one could tell me I was fat. No one could say anything to me. I wore size 2 jeans, for christ’s sake. And I long to be that thin again.

Is it right to want that? Probably not. I’m 10 years older— that alone usually means a higher natural weight. And I want to be comfortable. I want to feel like I’m eating enough and like I’m not killing myself with the exercise. I want to be at a sustainable weight. And for anyone else, I would of course think this weight was fine.

But thinking about being thinner gives me this sick kind of thrill. Geneen Roth talks about it in her book, Appetites. She talks about how when she lost weight from the flu and her pants got too big, it felt like a bird flew out of her heart. That’s exactly how thinness makes me feel. Like all those prayers I said as a child for God to make me thin finally came true. Like no one could hurt me because I was in control.

I only sustained that low weight of 125 for a couple years. In order to maintain it, I couldn’t eat sugar, flour, or wheat of any kind. I could only have 2 servings of carbs a day. It was, quite literally, my religion.

I made that diet an absolute— it was how I defined my “abstinence” from overeating as a member of OA. Like in AA where alcoholics can’t drink in order to remain sober, I decided I couldn’t eat sugar in order to remain abstinent. And I literally prayed for God to help me stay on my diet.

But the only other time I remember my weight being that low was in middle school. And that was the result of a strict diet and hours on the Nordic Track cross-country ski machine, or jumping around to Jane Fonda VHS tapes. I don’t know if that weight would work for me now.

I don’t really know what my weight should be. I do know that I have to eat when I’m hungry. I’d be crazy not to. And right now I need 2,300 calories a day to feel satisfied.

I feel like I’m walking off the cliff in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade: he steps onto an invisible bridge across a chasm on his way to the holy grail— the “leap from the lion’s head.” I will eat, and I’ll just have to trust that my weight will land in the right place the way his foot landed on the invisible bridge. And if it’s not as thin a place as I want it to be, I’ll still have to accept it.

Quarantine Clothing Number Crunch 2020

Well, the numbers are in and despite not leaving the house this year, I seem to have spent $628.76 on clothes. Now I did manage to make back $94.52 from selling my old clothes on Thredup, bringing my total spent down to $551.62. Plus $130 of that was for new running shoes, and $89.17 of it was purely for shipping since we can’t go to stores, so I suppose it sounds worse than it is.

But of the 31 items I acquired, only 2 of them are for my capsule wardrobe, and they are literal replacements of my favorite pants in a smaller size. My focused efforts in pursuit of very specific (secondhand) bras and leggings got me thinking about what other specific items I could track down, and that led me to the pants for my capsule.

At the same time, I started feeling very cold around the house since the pajama pants I purchased in the spring were no longer adequate for winter. And that same issue sent me searching for socks.

The only somewhat frivolous purchase I made this year was a handbag from Thredup that I didn’t exactly need, and for which I blame The Anna Edit and Lizzy Hadfield. All this to say that despite my feeling out of control with my spending in November and December, it was all utterly practical.

But those utterly practical items are also the ones that we don’t want to have to spend money on. We expect that sweatpants and socks are just always there at the back of our drawers. But with my recent weight loss (and all my previous gains and losses), I’m left without those old cast-offs we take for granted.

Here’s what I bought:

2/6/20 Running Shoes $130
4/7/20 Grey GAP PJ Pants $21.57
4/20/20 Black GAP PJ Pants $27.20
5/7/20 Blue GAP PJ Pants $21.58
10/11/20 Thredup Neely Mack Handbag $37.69 + $3.32 tax + $5.99 sh
10/11/20 Thredup Danskin Leggings $9.75 (free sh)
RETURNED 11/4/20 Thredup Danskin Now leggings ($16.99 free sh)
11/6/20 Ebay black 34B B1321 bra $14.95 (free sh)
11/6/20 Poshmark black 38B RN72409 bra $12 + $7.11 sh
11/10/20 Poshmark tan 36B B1421 bra $13 + $7.11 sh
11/10/20 Poshmark pink 36C MOB1321 bra $10 + $7.11 sh
11/10/20 Poshmark black and white 36C B15279 bras $8 + $8 + $7.11 sh
11/12/20 Poshmark black and white 38C B1321 bras $15 + $7.11 sh
11/13/20 Poshmark grey Danskin leggings NWT $15 + $4.99 sh
11/18/20 Poshmark black 38C B1321 bra $11 + $7.11 sh
11/20/20 Lands’ End 2 pairs M Serious Sweatpants $44.94 (free sh)
RETURNED 11/20/20 Lands’ End 2 pairs L Serious Sweatpants and 2 pairs fleece socks ($57.88 free sh)
11/21/20 Poshmark Under Armour fleece joggers $22 + $4.99 sh
11/26/20 Poshmark 2 pair J. Crew pants $47 + $7.11 sh
RETURNED 11/28/20 Under Armour leggings and top ($87.49 free sh)
11/29/20 Dick’s Sporting Goods 5 pairs socks $26.98 + $6.99 sh
12/4/20 Poshmark black Danskin leggings $5 + $7.11 sh
12/10/20 Lands’ End 2 Serious Sweatshirts $35.96 + $9 sh

I also received 2 Christmas gifts:
12/25/20 RBX fleece-lined leggings size L (Christmas gift)
12/25/20 Fratelli Talli wool-blend winter hat (Christmas gift)

Here’s a breakdown of my purchases by category:

Loungewear and PJs: ($160.25)
3 GAP PJ pants
2 Lands’ End sweatpants
2 Lands’ End sweatshirts

Gym Wear: ($198.84)
Running shoes
Thredup leggings
Poshmark grey leggings
Poshmark black leggings
Under Armour fleece joggers
RBX fleece-lined leggings (Christmas gift)

Bras: ($134.65)
9 Ebay/Poshmark bras

Accessories: ($80.97)
3 Adidas socks
2 Cozy Cabin socks
Thredup handbag
Winter hat (Christmas gift)

Capsule: ($54.11)
2 Poshmark J. Crew pants

Seeing it laid out like this does help me make sense of it all. I mean, if anything it’s the OOTH stuff that doesn’t make sense. I literally didn’t wear any of my capsule, handbags, or bras this year, so why did I even feel the need to buy them?

Well, the bras were a passion project. It didn’t completely make sense to buy 9 used bras, but it did help me survive the election fallout, the nail-biting over whether we still live in a democracy or whether we’re subject to a totalitarian state. Think of that $134.65 as therapy.

The handbag we’ve discussed— the bloggers made me do it.

And finding those 2 pairs of J. Crew pants in size 10 to replace my identical size 14s was an absolute lark, an irresistible chance to wear my favorite pants at my current weight. I mean, come on. I was honestly considering gaining some weight back just so the 14s would fit— that’s how much I loved those pants. Who cares that I won’t get to wear them for another 6 months while the vaccine rolls out?

One statistic I’m quite pleased with is the Used vs. New percentage (not including gifts):

48% Used ($304.54)
52% New ($324.22)

Despite most of this stuff being things you just don’t buy secondhand (bras, leggings, sweats, socks), I somehow managed to get the bras, leggings, joggers—and handbag—secondhand (the smell does come out eventually).

The new items were the Lands’ End sweats, socks, running shoes, and pajama pants. These are all things that just wear out and I feel you have to buy new. But literally everything I bought all year (except for the handbag) was a replacement for something that wore out or got too big. (Oh boy, I’m really feeling the rationalization now.)

I did not, however, try any ethical/sustainable brands for the things I needed to buy new. It just seemed like a lot of trouble to pay for shipping, return shipping, higher prices, etc. when I don’t even know my size in these new-to-me brands. With the big clothing companies (Lands’ End, GAP), I could order multiple sizes and get free shipping, and then return whatever didn’t fit for free.

I just hate paying for shipping. I will go so far as to order $100 worth of stuff from Lands’ End (which I did) just to get free shipping. I mean, lots of people must do this. The company must benefit from it somehow— people either end up liking the extra stuff they order or are just too lazy to return it. I, on the other hand, squeeze every drop out of them and return the stuff right away.

With the Lands’ End sweatpants, I ordered 2 colors in Large and 2 colors in Medium because I didn’t know what would fit. But the 50% discount was so good that I still didn’t reach the $100 threshold for free shipping. So I threw in 2 pairs of fleece socks and that finally did it. But the socks and the size Large pants went right back.

Then I still needed socks, so I ended up having to order from Dick’s Sporting Goods and pay $6.99 for shipping. And when I went back on Lands’ End to order matching sweatshirts to go with my pants (the allure of matching sets was too good to pass up), it seemed silly to do the whole $100 rigamarole again, so I paid $9 for shipping. I had no choice but to pay shipping on every one of those bras and leggings and pants from Poshmark. It’s $7.11 per order from each seller, which works out alright if you buy more than one item from a seller, but what are the odds of that happening when you’re on a bra mission?

As far as the timeline goes, here’s the breakdown by month:

2020:
Jan 0
Feb $130
Mar 0
Apr $48.77
May $21.58
Jun 0
Jul 0
Aug 0
Sep 0
Oct $56.73
Nov $314.68
Dec $57.07

This comes out to an average of $52.40 per month. Better than last year, but it still seems like a lot for essentials only. There were a total of 29 items that I paid for (2 items were gifts), so it comes out to an average price of $21.68 per item. The most expensive items were the running shoes at $130, and the least expensive were a pair of Adidas socks at about $6 including shipping.

If we offset my total spent ($628.76) by the amount credited to me by Thredup ($94.52), this brings my total down to $534.24, and my monthly average down to $44.52. Not bad.

I did have one failed purchase that could not be returned, and that was the pair of grey Danskin leggings I bought New With Tags on Poshmark. It turns out they had a low rise as opposed to the high rise I wanted. I’d already cut off the tag and washed them when I realized this, so it didn’t seem worth it to sell them on Ebay, but they will eventually go into a Thredup bag for resale.

Aside from that, I’m quite happy with my purchases for 2020. I have plenty of stuff to get me through early 2021 as far as lounging, sleeping, and working out— the only things I really do. And there are those few OOTH items I have to look forward to. We’re still a long way from sitting in coffee shops mask-free, but at least there’s a light at the end of the tunnel with the vaccines. Thank god Biden is in charge now.

Serious Sweats

Well, my little shopping spree continued through the Black Friday/Cyber Monday sales. But I swear, I only bought things I needed—no influencer-inspired handbags, no archival wide-leg pants. This was serious. And where better to start than with Lands’ End Serious Sweats?

Now, I’m not exactly proud of how many items of clothing I own from Lands’ End. I don’t consider it a very fashionable brand. Well, I don’t think anyone does. It’s more of a practical solution to covering one’s body than any kind of sartorial ideal. But over the past few years I’ve acquired:

1. A pair of their snow boots

2. A packable lightweight parka

3. A pair of leather gloves

4. A pair of fleece slippers

5. A terrycloth bathrobe

6. A pair of wide-leg trouser jeans (now decluttered—too big)

7. A green corduroy shirt (thrifted and now decluttered — too big)

The quality is simply astounding for the price, especially since they almost always have at least 40% off. And they actually guarantee all of their items; they replaced my snow boots a couple years ago after a seam split—and the new ones have a covering over that seam in the new design. So when I recently came to terms with my need for some warmer lounge pants, I knew where to turn.

My Gap pajama pants are lovely and silky-soft, but all four pairs are far too thin to wear around the house in winter.

I thought about trying some sweatpants from GAP, or some GAP flannel joggers I was tipped off about.

But Matt has 3 sweatshirts-- two zip-up hoodies and a pullover—that are Serious Sweats from Land’s End.

I always hesitated to get my own since there is some polyester content, but every time I was cold and Matt loaned me a hoodie, I swooned. They are dream sweats (that sounds weird). They are the sweats of dreams. Thick and fleecy on the inside, putting them on feels like a warm hug. I had to try them for myself.

I looked at the women’s options, but they looked a little too maternal for me. No elastic or cuffs at the bottom, and just tapered enough to be unflattering.

So I looked at Men’s, instead. They had the classic, old-school style with elastic at the ankles, and get this: they have pockets. I ordered two in M and two in L, black and charcoal grey. To top up my order and get free shipping, I threw in two pairs of fleece socks, also for around the house. (I mean, what else is there at this point except around the house?)

The socks didn’t work out. They seemed kind of thin—but these pants are to die for. The men’s Medium is a perfect oversized fit with plenty of room for curling up on the couch, but with a waistband that doesn’t fall down. I literally feel like I’m being snuggled as I move around in them. They are heaven.

I eventually caved and ordered two matching pullovers in Large; they are back-ordered until February 8th, but I’ll wait. Because, did I even mention they were 50% off? Each pair of sweatpants was only $22.47 (free shipping), and will wear extremely well, if Matt’s hoodies are any indication.

I sent back the size Large pants and the socks and moved onto other necessities: cold weather running gear. I was in need of new base layer Cold Gear leggings and a shirt, so I’d waited for Black Friday to check if Under Armour was doing a sale. The leggings were marked down from $50 to $37.50, but the Cold Gear crewneck tops were full price ($50). I looked at the mock-neck option, which was on sale for $37.50, but the reviews all said it ran small and fit super tight, so I wouldn’t know what size to get.

I opted for the full-price crew neck, which is exactly like the one I already have. For leggings, I decided to try the “Armour leggings” with the higher waist instead of the “Authentic” that I had last time. They only had my size in grey, as opposed to my usual black, but it really doesn’t matter since I wear pants on top anyway.

Shipping was free for orders over $50, so I ordered each item in a Medium for a total of $87.50. I still have my old UA “Storm” hoodie to wear on top, and then my new Poshmark-sourced UA Coldgear Joggers for bottoms.

Upon their arrival, I quickly determined that the UA leggings were a no-go. They were somehow too big in the waist, and yet too tight in the knees. I mean, I literally could not bend my knees. I honestly thought leggings were fairly easy to get right, so I was pretty surprised that a higher-end brand like Under Armour could get them so wrong. The top was fine- just like the XL that I already own. But I couldn’t justify a new top when the old one is still going strong, and this one wasn’t even on sale.

My final Black Friday necessities were socks. I literally only had 4 pairs of winter socks to get me through the week, so I knew I needed some athletic crew socks. I also tended to wear this one heavy pair of socks around the house 7 days a week, which is disgusting, so I thought some “house socks” were in order, too. I considered replacing my slippers, but I honestly don’t wear them much. It just seems easier to go from couch to kitchen to bed in warm socks.

I searched the sales: Kohl’s, Macy’s, etc., as well as the athletic brand sites (Adidas, Puma). I could not find what I wanted at the department stores, and I could not find any good socks on sale. I ended up on the Dick’s Sporting Goods website, which had endless options, but very few on sale. I settled on a 3-pack of white Adidas cushioned crew socks which looked decent, but were full-price at $14. Then I found these Northeast Outfitters “Cozy Cabin” socks that were 2-for-1, so I shelled out $12.99 for 2 pairs.

That, plus the $6.99 delivery fee (not a promo code in sight) came to $33.97. This seemed massively overpriced since I’m used to just rifling through the pickings at T.J.’s or Marshalls where I can get a 6-pack for $7.99. But since COVID continues to rage across the U.S., there will be no non-essential trips to rifle through socks at T.J.’s. I know there are people doing it, but we are not. So add “extra money for socks” to the list of COVID expenses, along with masks and hand sanitizer and full-price paper products. Oh, and also Matt’s job being postponed for a year. That’s been expensive, too.

The socks thankfully worked out. While I did feel they were overpriced for what they were, the Adidas crew socks are fine for working out and nighttime walks. The “Cozy Cabin” socks are great— super soft and warm— but they haven’t washed well and look very pilly already.

So that sums up my “serious” Black Friday shopping: sweatpants, some failed running gear, and socks. Super exciting. And none of it ethical or sustainable. While I have managed to do a good bit of thrifting lately (Poshmark, of course), there are always things you don’t want secondhand. Sweatpants and socks just wear out—especially this year.

And I’m apparently too cheap and impatient to experiment with ethical/sustainable loungewear and socks. How do I know if they’re any good? How much do I have to pay for return shipping? How do I know what size to get? I just can’t see spending all that extra time and money to find the right items from an ethical/sustainable brand.

Because these necessities are serious. They need to work every day, in cold weather, for as long as possible. And if I’m really wearing this stuff longer because it’s better quality, that’s good enough for me. I’m just not going to beat myself up over some Lands’ End items that will probably last me 10 years. I’d say those are pretty sustainable purchases.

Anyway, I think I’m at the end of my shopping for the year. I could still use some fleece-lined leggings and a new winter hat, but it feels difficult to justify buying more stuff. I’ve been on quite the shopping binge these past few weeks. But I’m happy with what I have. And I’m seriously happy with the sweats.

Searching Poshmark for Clothes I Miss

After my recent bout of election stress-induced bra shopping, there was something in me that just wouldn’t stop, so there have been several other clothing purchases.

A big reason for this was my newfound addiction to the Poshmark app. Once I got over my huff in response to its lax seller policies, I found it an incredibly pleasant way to browse secondhand items without all the sketchy bulk-sellers in the way. There’s also something less creepy about the shitty pictures on Poshmark that read more like someone’s bedroom and less like a warehouse down by the river (I’m looking at you, Ebay).

I’m also enjoying the more detailed listings on Poshmark as opposed to what you find on Thredup— in addition to the option to ask questions about the item and actually get a response.

While I’d lucked out with one purchase of Danskin leggings on Thredup, a subsequent attempt was not nearly so successful. I purchased a pair that had been mislabeled by Thredup as Danskin, when they were really Danskin Now. Danskin Now is a brand with a different manufacturer altogether; the items are clearly of lower quality and are usually sold at Walmart. (Thredup did credit my return, but the whole thing was pretty frustrating.)

I was looking for some particular Danskin leggings sold at Marshall’s or T.J.’s, not to be confused with Danskin Now leggings, or even actual-Danskin-website ones. I had to base my analysis of the Thredup leggings on the fabric content, as there are no style numbers, RN numbers, or pictures of tags on Thredup.

But on Poshmark, the tags are frequently shown in the pictures, and I was able to find a whole slew of my favorite Danskin style, 6279M. I “liked” about 20 pairs and pored over the photos, checking for pilling or holes. I was once again reminded by Matt about the dodginess of secondhand workout clothes (specifically the smell), so I ended up going with a New With Tags pair in a purplish-gray.

They seemed a bit pricey once you factored in the $7.11 standard shipping, so I hesitated at first. But Poshmark has an incredibly effective selling technique where once you “like” something, the seller usually sends you a reduced price offer, often with $4.99 shipping. When I got the reduced price offer of $15 with $4.99 shipping, I took it hook, line, and sinker. (Ebay has this feature for sellers, too, but it’s not as frequently used.)

The leggings arrived taped up inside a Pop Tarts box, but otherwise seemed fine. I loved the color, and they appeared to be the right style, but they did have that thrift store smell I’m so familiar with. Many of the bras I’d bought on Poshmark had some weird smells, too, so I soaked everything in a warm bath with detergent and vinegar before washing on a gentle cycle. This really didn’t do anything. So I plan on purchasing some cheap vodka to get rid of the smells— I used to spray it on all the dry clean-only clothing I sold on Ebay, and it worked wonders.

Well, once I finally got around to trying on the leggings, I quickly realized they were not, in fact, the same style as my other ones. They were low-rise when I was looking for high-rise. I discovered that they were actually made in a different country than the ones I already had, with a different “PO number” as well, something I’d never even seen on a fabric tag. Same RN number, same style number, and yet, not the same leggings.

I returned to Poshmark, this time seeking out the same PO number on the tags. I found a used pair with all the right numbers, marked down to $5 plus shipping.

At last, I had succeeded in finding what I was looking for. They were a perfect fit.

In any case, these extremely specific purchases were like a gateway drug to getting very spendy online.

For my next purchase, I decided to search for new “Under Armour Cold Gear” to wear running outside. I’ve been thinking that getting outside more would make a nice change from the treadmill, but my old Cold Gear leggings and RBX fleece-lined pants had gotten too big and were decluttered during my spring Wardrobe Overhaul. The Cold Gear top I have is also big, and it has been getting some wear, so I figured I should probably get a new one in my current size.

I went on the Under Armour website and was dismayed to find virtually nothing on sale, as well as a dizzying 9 different types of women’s Cold Gear leggings. I decided to wait for Black Friday to see if they had a sale (they did— more on that later), and focused on finding some pants to wear over the leggings instead. Despite an extensive search of various brands, I came up with nothing like the RBX fleece-lined pants I used to wear. All I could find were wide-leg fleece pants or joggers not made for cold weather.

And so I turned back to Poshmark. Searching “Cold Gear Under Armour,” I found a couple of options, asked a few questions, and ultimately decided I really needed these pants to be New With Tags. I eventually found some Under Armour Cold Gear joggers that I had read reviews of online, but that they don’t make anymore. When the bargain offer came through ($22 plus $4.99 shipping), I took it.

I was relieved to find they fit perfectly once they arrived— I thought I was taking a chance with a size M, but apparently that’s my new size in workout gear.

And Poshmark became my new default app. I’d check for offers or replies to questions any chance I got. And I browsed… a lot. Having had such success with finding my old favorite leggings, I started searching for my old favorite J. Crew tees. This led to searching for J. Crew wide-leg pants, which led to the shocking discovery of my absolute favorite pants in my current size.

The great heartbreak of continuing to lose weight for me has been the fact that my size 14 J. Crew wide-leg pants are too big. I loved those pants. Now here they were again, one white pair and one blue pair, just like mine— but in a size 10. I “bundled” them together for a 10% discount and only one shipping fee, and asked the seller if they had any stains or flaws, just to make sure.

This was Thanksgiving day, so I was away from my phone while on a Zoom call with my family. But when I tapped on the app later that night, there was a reply to my question with a further discounted offer: $47 plus the $7.11 shipping for both pairs. I considered making an even lower offer for a better deal, but I was afraid of offending the seller by lowballing her. I just clicked “accept offer.”

They came wrapped in tissue paper with the requisite Poshmark handwritten note, and they were a perfect fit. They smelled like Savers, so they’d have to get the vodka treatment too, but I was thrilled. I never imagined I’d ever have such great pants again.

I returned to searching for J. Crew Tissue Tees— another old favorite of mine and a legend in my wardrobe (these are the ones that lasted me 15 years). Then I started searching for LOFT Vintage Soft Tees—my most recent favorites that are now too big. And I found them.

I searched “blouson” dresses on Poshmark. That black LOFT one I wore 12 years ago was so good. But where would I ever wear one now? Would there ever be a day I’d reach for a casual dress instead of some pants and boots?

At this point I realized I should really ask myself, “Do I actually want to recreate my old wardrobe? There are loads of Clothes I Miss, but do I really want them again?”

And am I just looking to live in the past? Or am I actually validating the choices I made in the past via the clothes I choose to wear?

Tracking this stuff down was never an option before, even with eBay, where it’s often difficult and overwhelming to browse the search results. This makes me wonder if there’s something unnatural about finding these old clothes again. Should I be hanging onto every good thing I ever had, to the person I was before, to all the different sizes I’ve been? Or should I just leave the past in the past and look forward to the unknown?

The Election Stressed Me Out So Much That I Bought 9 Bras, Part Two

The election results had only somewhat quelled my anxiety when, as predicted, Trump and his cronies pretended he’d won. As lawsuits were filed and dismissed and Rudy Giuliani made speeches at landscaping facilities, I continued my epic bra search.

After my very first order on Poshmark was cancelled, I frantically started hoarding bras in various sizes. While tensions ran high, all was not lost. I still had my 34B coming from Ebay and my rando 38B “Sexy Black lace bra” coming from Poshmark (or so they said).

I was baffled by Poshmark’s response (or lack thereof) to my unfulfilled order. There were no repercussions for the seller like there are on Ebay for flaking on a sale. There was no way for me to leave feedback or even a star rating, since the sale didn’t actually go through. Poshmark refunded my money when I contacted them, and they assured me that their sellers “behave professionally.” I was not impressed.

But finding my bras was way more feasible on Poshmark than on Ebay. I could scroll through a few hundred listings of discarded T.J. Maxx purchases on Poshmark. Ebay would give me a list of 28,000 results with little likelihood I’d find one of these bras that often have no brand on the tag. So despite having two orders in the works, I panicked. I just couldn’t let it lie.

Upon that Poshmark cancellation, I immediately went back on the app and bought two more bras: a pink “OG” in 36C (new with tags) and a beige “textured roses” style in 36B. With my existing 38C “textured roses” bra being too big, I thought both were worth a shot.

Later that day, I was scrolling while on the treadmill. Simply searching “lace bra” on Poshmark, I came across two listings from the same seller. I recognized the bras immediately as that newest “Sweet On You” style with the hole in the center. They were new with tags, one black and one white, and only $8 each. The photos confirmed the style number: B15279.

I “bundled” the two items together to save on shipping and tapped “Buy Now.” My payment options were already set up, so it went through like magic. The listings had only been live for 6 hours, but I was primed to find them.

Once my blood stopped pounding from the adrenaline (and the treadmill), I started feeling a little anxious about how much money I was spending, still not having received even one bra in the mail. I was still guessing as to what size I was, and now had six purchases under my belt.

At last I received the “New With Tags” 34B “OG” from Ebay. It was too small, as predicted, but I tucked it away in my drawer for posterity.

The Poshmark sellers seemed to be taking their sweet time. Days went by, and I received an occasional email from the app telling me that they were reminding the seller to ship, or that the seller was planning to send it soon. I found this very weird, but again, Poshmark is not like Ebay. You can’t screen sellers by looking at ratings or feedback. If you dig deeper into sellers’ profiles, you can still only see their “love notes”— comments left by people who gave them a five-star rating. Negativity does not exist on Posh.

Finally, the seller named “Lizzy” came through and shipped the “Sexy Black lace bra.”

She had wrapped it in tissue paper and enclosed a handwritten note as well as a “gift” of a red, long-sleeved Kohl’s T-shirt, new with tags. Was this supposed to be some sort of compensation for taking so long to ship? Who knows? The bra was a pretty good fit, and similar in style to the “OG”— it was a 38B and it did have the right RN number, 72409.

Next to arrive was the “Tan lace bra 36B,” also from Poshmark, this one in the “textured roses” style. It fit, technically, but it still seemed a little small, and the style wasn’t quite as good; it just wasn’t the coveted OG.

And then the pale pink one arrived. This “OG” was an MOB1321 as opposed to the newer style number B1321, so it was possibly 20 years old but in perfect condition.

And it fit. It dawned on me that a 36C is going to be really similar to a 38B, so that was the size I should be hoarding (38Bs are always really hard to come by). Plus the “OG” style seemed to fit a touch smaller than the “textured roses” style.

I started frantically searching the 36Cs on Poshmark and found “LACE bras (set of two).”

For only $15 and one $7.11 shipping fee, here were two OGs, one black, one white. The listing said the black one had been washed and dried (Huh? Did this person put a bra in a dryer? Who does that?) so the strap was a little funny. I did not care. I wanted them. I hemmed and hawed for about two days before pulling the trigger.

I swore that this would be my last bra purchase, that now I could rest. But that lady still wouldn’t sign that order to prepare for Biden’s presidency. The bras were coming in— I was getting closer to what I wanted, we were getting closer to reinstating democracy, but we weren’t there yet.

The 36B “Sweet On You” bras arrived but were a bit small, and then the 36Cs— the “OGs”— arrived. But they were actually 38Cs. I checked the listing— the box was checked for 36C but the description said 38C. I thought it was a bust (Get it?). Here was the size of bra I’d already owned and determined was too big.

But I tried one of these on and I felt like Cinderella. It was the best yet. And I remembered what happened the last time I bought a bra (Fugue State Bra Shopping). Same brand, slightly different style, and yet— I’M THE SAME SIZE.

Once again, I didn’t care. I was finally united with my dream bras— the “OGs” in 38C. Plus I had the pink 36C and the black 38B— those were good, too. I thought we were good. But Michigan was visiting the White House and Trump was aiming to get them to cheat and help him “win.” And I thought of all those bras out there— the ones I had favorited— and sifted through the lists. Were there any more 38Cs out there, in danger of being pulled down and tossed in the trash?

Well, there was one. Almost a week had gone by since my last purchase. I was absolutely swimming in bras (I was up to 8 now). But there it was, languishing under the title “style #b1321 Black Lace Bra size 38C.”

It wasn’t new with tags. It didn’t have a brand name on it. But there was that style number on the tag, clear as day: B1321. I caved. I offered $11 and the seller accepted. It was mine.

This time, I felt content. Michigan came through, the lady signed the thing, and Biden was moving forward. I finally had a collection of bras that supported me, and that I felt respected me as a woman. And I no longer had a president that “grabs women by the pussy” or has 27 credible counts of sexual assault against him.

Somehow, I feel like I get to be a person again. I started out with little hope that these bras were out there, that those Biden voters were out there. But somehow, the country’s turned around and we’ve come through.

The Election Stressed Me Out So Much That I Bought 9 Bras, Part One

Yes, that’s right. I bought nine bras. I spent $134.65 on said bras, which isn’t bad for nine bras, but not great as far as necessity goes. I haven’t even worn a real bra since COVID started, back in March. But something happened during the week leading up to the election.

Forgive me for not feeling optimistic, but I didn’t see this going well. Trump had already conspired with a foreign government to cheat in the election, called Nazis “very fine people,” and locked babies in cages. He conspired with another foreign government to cheat in the last election, which he won, even though he lost by 3 million votes. I wasn’t terribly confident that we’d see a fair and democratic election.

So one day in mid-October I was musing on the idea of eventually wearing real clothes, and I wondered what bra I would wear with my current wardrobe. Of the three I had available, two were molded, foam-cup Maidenforms that are nice and smooth under T-shirts, but felt a little artificial, I guess. The third one was a T.J. Maxx special— a Rene Rofé bra in a pretty, unlined lace with textured roses. All three were just too big.

I thought about how I liked the unlined lace bra the best, and how that’s the bra I’d want to wear should I ever get dressed. I thought about how that bra was the last remaining Rene Rofé lace bra in my possession, and I thought about how much I’d always loved those bras. Every time I’d ever gotten changed in a backstage dressing room wearing one, people would compliment it, and ask where they could get one themselves. Smugly, I’d confide that they were $7 at T.J. Maxx. I’d been able to find them multiple times over the years (this was 15-20 years ago) and I never pondered the day when they’d disappear.

As my weight changed frequently and my entire wardrobe did too, I discarded or donated these bras when they didn’t fit. I’d just buy new ones when I needed them again. They didn’t come in plus sizes, though, so in recent years they weren’t on my radar. But a few years ago, I found this later incarnation of the bra—the “textured roses” one—at Marshall’s, and grabbed it in a 38C, hence the one remaining relic of a time gone by.

This “textured roses” version of the bra wasn’t as good as the original, though. The original ones were made of a smoother, almost cotton-like lace, and they looked really vintage. It was those bras I was thinking of when I began my online search. Little did I know how quickly my election anxiety would propel me into a frenzied attempt to hang onto the past— to hang onto those pre-Trump years I longed for.

I started out looking for new bras, but Rene Rofé has apparently devolved from making full-coverage vintage-style bras into creating the trashiest of trashy lingerie. “Crotchless” was a term that came up often when I searched the brand, and there was one striking number that was just a giant bow for one’s lucky suitor to unwrap on Christmas morning.

I did manage to find a newer, sleazier Rene Rofé bra on Zulily, a website where you have to give them your email address to even browse the site. Since I was really guessing as to what my current size would be, I didn’t take a chance on the last remaining 36B. I didn’t know if it would fit like my old favorite style anyway.

My subsequent googling led me to some old eBay listings where the bra had once been sold. I then discovered a now-defunct Amazon listing for a style very similar to the original. This one had a little hole in the center breastbone area, but it didn’t seem to sacrifice the integrity of the bra. This later incarnation was no longer available on Zulily or Amazon or anywhere else, but I had found some keywords and a style number to search: Sweet on You, and B15279. I started digging deeper.

I found the “textured roses” bra was also sold under the brand name “Sophie B,” and that both Rene Rofé and Sophie B shared the same RN number, 72409. By scanning hundreds of photos on Poshmark, I managed to track down some bras that fit the bill. Some were my favorite style—the original vintage-like lace one—some were the “textured roses” one, some were the “Sweet On You” style with the hole, and some were other styles by Rene Rofé that I didn’t recognize but that could have been similar.

I searched eBay. I searched Mercari. I searched “lace bra” on Poshmark and scrolled through hundreds more photos, positively identifying my bra on occasion. I found out that the brand was often not listed on the tags on these bras—only the style number. I was looking out for MOB1321 or B1321 for the original, B1421 for the “textured roses,” B15279 for the “Sweet On You.” I searched all sizes, just looking for everything that was out there, resolving to figure out sizing later. And I found them— more than I ever thought I would.

I eventually ordered the original version in black from eBay in a 34B. I knew there was no way this would fit me, but I felt the need to hoard it just in case my rib cage shrank from a 38 to a 34.

I spotted a mystery bra with different lace in a 38B that barely showed an RN number of 72409 when I zoomed in on one of the photos. I ordered that one, too. It was on Poshmark, listed only as “Sexy Black lace bra,” but I felt confident that it was worth a shot.

The election results started coming in, and it went exactly as expected. All the stupid COVID deniers had gone to the polls to get infected, and those were the results we heard about first—Trump was leading in way too many states. It didn’t look good. But I knew the mail-in ballots were coming from sane, intelligent people who abided by the COVID restrictions and stayed home. The more time went by, the more Biden votes were coming in. After days of nail-biting, Matt finally refreshed his screen on the New York Times website and we saw the headline: BIDEN BEATS TRUMP.

It wasn’t as great a relief as I’d expected. I still knew there would be criminal nonsense on the Republican side, and it would be a fight to allow democracy to prevail.

Minutes later, however, I was scrolling the “lace bra 38B” results on Poshmark and I found it: the original in beige, and the tag confirmed it— B1321. I bought “Pretty Ivory Lace Bra” immediately and was thrilled.

My frantic search for this older bra, one with structure and integrity, that offered comfort and admiration, had finally yielded results. And my longing for an older time, when the presidency meant something, when we had structure and integrity in our government, when we had the comfort of knowing our fate was in the hands of an admirable individual, was also fulfilled.

Matt and I sprang for a bottle of champagne from a delivery service and toasted to Biden’s first speech as the president-elect (don’t tell my psychiatrist—you’re not supposed to drink on this many meds). We felt hope that things might actually turn around.

But soon, I received a disappointing message. The seller of the perfect bra said that it wasn’t available, and she apologized for any inconvenience.

I wept. I literally sobbed over this news. I knew it was too good to be true, and that’s much the way I felt about the election. Trump had broken the law so many times that it no longer meant anything. What was to stop him from overriding the election?

Capsule Wardrobe Recap and Irreplaceable Items

While my pajama and gym capsules haven’t really changed much recently (I just replaced a few items), my OOTH wardrobe has been whittled down a bit. I’m down to five T-shirts, which is a bit shocking for me, but I try to remind myself that I have lot of other tops to wear. Two silky camis, two ponte-knit swing tops, and four silky blouses are just gathering dust. Add to that a mind-boggling 11 sweaters, and it’s clear I have plenty of options.

When I completed the Wardrobe Overhaul recently, I ended up with 54 items in total, and then soon after, a 55th item (some men’s black pants) rounded it off. Those pants are already gone, along with 4 other pairs of pants, as well as my corduroy shirt and white flouncy top. Five T-shirts were re-allocated to pajamas, and that’s put me down to 43 items for out-of-the-house.

As I said, I have plenty of tops and sweaters, but only two pairs of wide leg pants, two pairs of joggers, and two pairs of shorts. The weird thing is, I also have three skirts. What, you may ask, am I doing with all these silky blouses and skirts? I guess the same thing I’m doing with five pairs of heels. Not much. On the rare occasion that I do actually dress up, I tend to wear flat shoes, pants, and just one of the silky tops.

I could clearly cut back, but it just isn’t that simple. Two of these blouses are identical—long-sleeve blouson styles—one in black and one in navy. They’re old finds from a trip to Portland, OR, when I was killing time at a Nordstrom Rack, and they are absolutely irreplaceable. They are extremely flattering on me, simple and elegant, and they never look dated. I’ve never seen anything like them, except for other tops from the same brand, Vince Camuto. But even those that I’ve spotted just aren’t as good. The way the fabric on these drapes and crosses over in front perfectly covers my pudgy belly, and the long balloon sleeves end in delicate, single-button cuffs. They are clearly too big at this point in my weight-loss “journey,” but I will never declutter them.

This reminds me of a dress I had about ten years ago that was from LOFT. It was a simple, black, jersey dress with a blouson-style silhouette. It looked amazing on me—like better than anything else, ever. Blouson tops and dresses rest on the hips (not the waist), which are my thinnest part. I know people say wrap dresses are universally flattering because they bring attention to your smallest part—your upper waist—but they are wrong. I simply look pregnant in those dresses. Blouson dresses are far better for my “apple” shape, and there is no denying it.

But they are few and far between. I remember searching endlessly for a blouson top or dress to wear for my wedding, but to no avail. I ended up having a blouson top custom-made, and wore it with a long, antique slip-skirt. There was just nothing out there in the right style, and certainly not in plus-size.

Anyway, I regret getting rid of that black blouson dress because I’ve never seen anything quite like it again. When I decluttered it, I thought, “there’ll be other dresses out there.” But there aren’t. It’s difficult to find anything described as “blouson,” and even harder to try and figure out what else to call this style.

But I was scrolling on Thredup the other day when I discovered something about their filter for “dress style.” One of the options was “drop-waist,” and apparently that is how they categorize any blouson dresses that come their way. Now some of these are just drop-waist, like a child’s dress would be, and even more of them are a blouson style where the fitted part sits at the waist. But as I scrolled though all 2,700 drop-waist dresses, I could see that there were a select few where the fitted “waistband” would sit on the hips instead.

I obsessively started marking each one with a heart, deliberating over each one and analyzing them for red flags. I’ve often been burned by a dress that looks like the waist would reach my hips, but then doesn’t fall quite low enough.

You may recall from other blogs of mine that I decided that I hate dresses, and for the most part, I still do. But if I found a blouson style that fit me correctly, I’d change my mind immediately. A blouson dress wouldn’t make me look pregnant, and wouldn’t make me look like a tomato on a stick—another frequent occurrence when I try on dresses. It would be “slimming” and “flattering”—those qualities I’m always looking for in clothing no matter how many feminist ideals I subscribe to. I don’t want to wear ruffles or bows because it seems infantilizing, and I always feel more empowered in pants and boots rather than a skirt. But this endless search for clothes that make me look thinner than I am draws on deep waters. This is something ingrained in me from a young age, from when I first read about apple and pear shapes in Teen Magazine. So I’m hanging onto these drapey, blouson-style blouses for good.

I’m feeling a similar sort of “scarcity mentality” when it comes to my wide-leg pants. Even as wide-leg pants have come back in style quite recently, I hang onto the memory of buying these pareicular pants. I ordered them a few years ago from the J. Crew website; they were on sale and they were being discontinued. Cropped, wide leg culottes were everywhere, but true, long, wide-leg trousers just weren’t a thing. So while they may be here for now— I see them on Instagram all the time—I just don’t trust that they’ll stick around forever.

And these two pairs of wide-leg pants are irreplaceable. They are a heavyweight cotton chino that are extremely wide and have a high rise. They look like something I’ve seen only in Japanese Pinterest photos posted by young design students. So even though they’re starting to slide down, and even though I can take them on and off without unbuttoning or unzipping them, I have no intention of getting rid of them.

I guess I do have a bit of a hoarding tendency when it comes to clothes, despite my minimalist intentions. Even if there comes a time when I need new clothes in new sizes, I have a feeling I’ll simply store these away—just in case. That’s not usually a phrase you find me saying— I love getting rid of stuff even more than buying it. But somehow this is different. I can’t make my own clothes (believe me, I’ve tried), and the turning tides of fashion just can’t be predicted. So I’ll continue buying multiples of those perfect things I find— those utterly random valuables that can come from anywhere, from Old Navy to Vince to designer secondhand sites. You never know when one of those irreplaceable items will show itself, so when you find one, hang on tight.

Neely Mack Handbag and the End of the No-Buy

Aside from running shoes, 3 pairs of pajama pants, a pair of men’s pants from Ebay that I never got to wear before decluttering them, and a failed attempt to acquire an Everlane T-shirt, my “No-Buy” has extended from 90 days to a full year. I’ve officially broken it now with 3 recent additions to my wardrobe.

The first is the much-deliberated handbag from Thredup. It was a bit of a surprise what was actually going to arrive in the mail since the measurements listed on the website were clearly wrong. It said the bag was 10”x10” when it was obviously a rectangle. The photo with the mannequin made it look even bigger than 10” x anything, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Come to find out, the measurements were actually pretty close. It’s 10 3/4” across and 12 inches high. I anxiously slid my laptop into it (inside my laptop case) and realized that quite a bit of it did poke out the top. I could still fit my arm through the straps, but with a coat it would be tight. That said, I love it. It’s remarkably similar in size and shape to the coveted Celine hobo bag I was admiring on my favorite bloggers, is lightweight enough for travel, and the laptop does fit.

But then I realized a seam had started to unravel and the leather felt kind of old and crunchy. It also has a weird fold in the leather that makes it kind of asymmetrical on one side. Matt eagerly volunteered to stitch up the seam, having many fond childhood memories of doing leatherwork at Camp Mohawk. He was successful at that, and then cleaned it with saddle soap and applied this “Renovateur” conditioner that I used to use on old handbags I was selling on Ebay. All in all, a great improvement, plus I think I can get the fold out by putting something heavy on it so it’ll lie flat.

The vinyl inner lining is a little stinky and could do with a clean, but that’s to be expected with anything secondhand. And this bag is clearly vintage 90s, since Neely Mack stopped making handbags around 2005, when she started making shoes. I read about her in a San Francisco Gate article from that year, where I learned she was previously known for her leather jackets: “Her fitted, soft, thin lambskin jackets that double as tops became her signature item 15 years ago.” Yep, you read that right: a leather jacket that doubles as a top.

I immediately started googling and found such gems as this (on Ebay) going for $26

and this (also on Ebay) listed for $129.

I also found a few handbags that, much like mine, look like they’ve seen the back of a closet for 20 or 30 years. Here’s a couple from Poshmark:

This orange one is optimistically listed for $325, so I’d say I scored a deal on mine at $37.69.

Falling even further down the rabbit hole, I discovered that Ms. Neely Mack is now the author of a wellness book called “Project You” and sells something called “Bushfoods” in a Gwyneth Paltrow-esque turn.

*actually Neely Mack

She was also apparently involved in the development of these waterproof leather shoes which are available at a deep discount on Italeu’s website.

Anyhoo, I’m happy with the handbag and its minimalist design, and look forward to the day when I need a handbag to actually go anywhere.

My other Thredup purchase was a pair of black leggings from Danskin which are nearly identical to the other two pairs I already own, purchased at Marshalls way back when. I have a navy pair in XL and a black pair in L and both are getting a little saggy, so I went with a M this time and they fit much better. I think I’m going to set up an email alert through Thredup for any more size M Danskin leggings that come up, so I can nab some more.

They’re not exactly the same as the originals, but they work. They’ve had two trials on the treadmill (and two washes in the machine) and still seem good. A long vinegar soak in hot water got the thrift-store smell out of them, so we’re good to go.

The third and final item I was on the lookout for was a winter scarf. I have several scarves— two decorative, two lightweight, and two meant for cold weather. My blush Calvin Klein logo scarf is OK, but not really warm enough for full-blown winter.

And my giant, cable-knit, grey, cashmere scarf is warm, but somewhat impractical.

By the time you wrap it around enough to cover your neck, it’s so bulky that it doesn’t fit under your coat. You have to just wear it on top like some kind of medical neck brace and try to get by.

Ok, this is a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the idea.

I bought this particular scarf on Thredup, and while they’re always a great source for cheap cashmere, they don’t list the measurements of their scarves. Clothes, handbags, yes. Scarves, no. You’re left just guessing what the scale of the picture is: Is that a big scarf that they zoomed out on to fit in the frame, or is it a tiny scarf they zoomed in on to fill out the frame? Nobody knows. So no matter how many cashmere scarves I scroll through looking for a deal, I really don’t know what I’m looking at.

After my experience with my ginormous cable-knit number, I decided that a flat blanket scarf would be my ideal. Long and wide, but flat felted wool so it could be bunched up or spread out into a shawl. I looked on Ebay first. Measurements abound on Ebay, often showcasing a tape measure right in the photos, so I felt sure I’d fare better than on Thredup. I became enamored with this Theory scarf that was 100% cashmere and something like 86” x 32”—huge.

But the bidding started at $129 and I definitely couldn’t afford that, so I looked further. The cheapest cashmere scarves to come up were those sketchy generic listings for genuine brand-new cashmere for $11.99. These types of listings often ship from China, and what you get in no way resembles the photos online. I didn’t even bother with them.

I’d seen a number of bloggers wearing the Acne Studios Canada Scarf, which comes in a cashmere version for $420 and a wool version for $180. The dimensions were similar to the Theory scarf, and I did find some secondhand Canada scarves on Ebay. But not being able to touch the wool, I had no idea how scratchy it might be.

Matt has a very nice dark green felted-wool scarf that I got at TJs for $20, changed my mind about due to itchiness, and gave to him. I went looking for it for reference.

He found it, and while I was measuring it, he came across another winter scarf in his closet. It was an acrylic blanket scarf with a herringbone/checked pattern that I’d bought for him a couple years ago.

I tried it on. I was sold. For $0, I had a soft, warm, blanket scarf in a neutral color and pattern that I could see and touch in person. It was the ultimate minimalist purchase— decluttering an item from Matt’s wardrobe and taking it into mine. I’ve already worn it on our nightly neighborhood walks and I’m quite happy with it. Shopping done.

Why I Don't Have Any Outfit Photos and Why I Hate These Pants

I recently decluttered some pants. Five pairs in total, now that I’ve released my grip on my last pair of skinny jeans. Three pairs were just too big. The skinny jeans were just too skinny. And the jeans— I just decided I hate.

I’d bought a pair of men’s black pants in my usual brand, GEORGE, from eBay, just a size down from the last pair— so a 36. I really liked my last black GEORGE pants, and was sad to see them go, so Matt tracked these down for me. The material wasn’t the same; it was thicker and more polyester feeling, and less drapey. But I liked the fit, and figured at least they’d be warm in winter.

Then COVID happened, and I never even got to wear them before deciding they were too big. I tried them on the other day, realized they were falling down, and figured I’d just wear a belt. I have a black leather belt from storage that finally fits, so I tried that. They looked ridiculous. There was just too much fabric gathered together in front, and no matter how I tried to redistribute it around my waist, I still hated them. See photo.

I put on my Men’s Levi’s 501s, and was happy to see that they finally sit down on my hips the way I intended them to. But looking in the mirror, I couldn’t help fixating on how they seemed to flare out on the legs and make me look like a cowboy, or someone’s dad. The back view was even worse, as by some miracle, they both gave me a wedgie and looked saggy. Despite the fact that they technically fit, I had to admit that I just hated them. See photos.

In order to illustrate these issues, I had Matt snap a few photos on my phone. Since my weight is lower than it has been in ten years, I figured I could handle seeing photos of myself. Oh, how wrong I was. Upon seeing them, I was horrified by how fat, short, and stumpy I looked. I cringed at the ones where my belly was visible through my shirt. I’d hesitated to even take the photos, but my concern was solely that I’d be showing off how thin I am, appearing vain and also opening myself up to commentary on my body. (I don’t enable comments on my blog, so don’t ask me how.)

Instead of seeing them as “thin photos,” I reacted by thinking I looked fat. I felt I’d been objectified, and that I’d exposed my most vulnerable body part— my squishy belly. I looked through the photos again today in preparation for writing this blog, and was surprised to find that I looked fine. The camera on my iPhone definitely distorts things a bit, and always seems to make me look even shorter than I am, but overall, the photos didn’t bother me. What was so different? Why did I have such a negative initial reaction?

At first glance, I thought I simply wasn’t thin enough to be putting pictures of myself on the internet. I’ve been wanting to post outfit photos to show more of how my wardrobe functions, but have always reacted this way to the photos. I thought that this time, I just had to be thin enough. I’m down to my college weight, for christ’s sake. But the last time I actually liked a photo of myself, I was even thinner. Will I like photos of myself if I lose ten to fifteen pounds? Or am I just so used to loathing my body that I keep on doing it, even when I’m thin?

It’s almost like I’ve experienced “fat trauma.” I often forget I’m no longer plus-sized when looking at clothes online. And the other day, Matt said something funny about picking me up, and I immediately reminded him that I was heavier than him. (I’m currently forty pounds lighter than him.) Why hasn’t my brain adjusted? Is it just a common case of body dysmorphia, where I think I’m much fatter than I am? After all, I’m fairly thin, and I still think I’m fat.

But the opposite is also true. When I’m fat, I’m always shocked when I look in the mirror, because I imagine I’m much thinner than I am. I’ve never even looked at our wedding photos, because I didn’t think I could handle seeing myself at almost two hundred pounds, regardless of how well-dressed I was, regardless of how special the event was. And when I tried filming some YouTube videos at 224 pounds, I cried every time I saw the playback.

I saw beautiful plus-sized people online, confident and stylish, posting pictures of themselves on Instagram. Why couldn’t that be me? I was no bigger than they were. Yet every time I saw a photo of myself, I simply didn’t recognize myself. I couldn’t accept my body as my own. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I still can’t. I still think my current weight would be fine for anyone else, but not for me.

I look back at those old “thin” photos of me on Facebook or on my phone— the ones where I was down to 125. The ones where I was too thin to get my period. The ones where I was thin specifically so that I could objectify myself for my career— where I could pass as thin at auditions, and be seen as a real person, and not the funny, fat friend. I think of those photos and say that that’s who I really am.

I feel like I’m a thin person trapped in a fat body. I imagine that people can see the difference between the “thin me” and my fat body, and I feel exposed. As if my pain and my mental illness are represented by those extra pounds, and it’s out there for the world to see. And my belly— that’s the worst of it. Soft and vulnerable, it’s the thing that makes people assume I’m pregnant, and ask me when I’m due. The thing that makes me feel deformed, somehow.

I saw the photos of those pants the other day, and all of this came flooding out. I talked it over with Matt, I made notes, I pondered.

But then I remembered how simple it really was. It was a fat thought. I analyzed my reaction, dissecting the language the way Carol Munter suggests in When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies. She contends that a fat thought is never about your body. It’s simply code for something else. The thought said I looked “fat.” That I looked “too big.” An old childhood taunt came to mind: “You think you’re so big”— that my brothers and I would throw around to insult each other. If this thought wasn’t about my body, what would it be saying? It would say that I was overconfident— that I was vain— displaying my body for everyone on the internet to see. It would say that I thought I looked so great—so clearly acceptable—that I was allowed to show myself to random people for judgement. It would say that I’d gotten “too big for my britches,” too full of myself. I’d showed off. And that made me feel ashamed.

I nixed the photos, and explained it away by saying I looked fat. A few days later, the pictures seemed fine. Was it safe to post them, or would it trigger another round of self-loathing? In the end, I decided to risk it. The photos are not about how thin or fat I am. This isn’t some weight loss before and after. They simply show you, Dear Reader, why I hate these pants.

Billie Eilish and Oversized Dressing

I was greatly disheartened to come across a bit of celebrity gossip yesterday regarding Billie Eilish wearing clothes that actually fit her. There is a particularly mundane paparazzi photo floating around of her in a tank top and shorts that shouldn’t have bothered anyone, much less provoked them to rain down on the 18 year-old multiple grammy winner with a battery of fat-shaming comments.

But that’s exactly what it did, and it only goes to prove how right she has been to wear extremely oversized clothes in the public eye. In oversized clothes, she was judged for her voice, her unique and groundbreaking songs, and her charismatic stage presence and performing abilities. No one seemed to care about her body when they couldn’t see it. She’d cracked the code when it came to being a musician and not a sex symbol. I admired her for it.

I’ve been drawn to oversized clothes ever since my freshman year of high school, with the very same motive in mind. I wanted to be treated like a person, and not an object. I remember admiring the fashion decisions of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, long before they became wildly successful fashion designers. They wore extremely oversized outfits, dwarfing their small frames and forcing you to look them in the eye.

I remember seeing Nicole Richie do the same thing. Picked apart in the media for losing some weight, she mostly appeared covered up in long, oversized dresses. When a paparazzi photo of her in a bathing suit revealed her body to the public for the first time, she was bashed and criticized for being too thin. Her body suddenly became a topic for commentary, much like Billie Eilish’s body is now.

Clearly, these women were on to something with their style choices. They had successfully de-objectified themselves simply by wearing bigger clothes. So that’s what I try to do when I dress myself. I try to take my body out of the equation. I find this harder to do when I’m heavy, but it still dictates how I like things to fit (or not fit). If I’m a 2X in tops, I buy a 3X. If I’m a small or medium, I buy a large. So as my weight has decreased over the past two years, I’ve often continued wearing certain clothes, even as they became several sizes too big. I still wear the same sweaters I wore 75 pounds ago. And I’ve often stuck it out for longer than most people might, wearing pants cinched with a belt so they didn’t fall down.

Once I finally reached my goal of fitting into my “smaller clothes in storage,” I thought I could finally stop buying new pants, and just wear what I had and loved. The last time I was this size, I spent a lot of time and money finding really great clothes. I scoured the internet for the things I liked that weren’t necessarily in style. I found great, wide-leg pants on final sale at J. Crew, and hemmed them to exactly the right floor-skimming length. I ordered T-shirts in multiple sizes and colors, seeking out just the right neckline and boxy fit. I bought a cashmere sweater from Thredup and two pairs of Naturalizer heels that have exactly the right heel height for both walking and singing. I made the journey to Saks off Fifth at the outlet mall to try on high-end items before tracking them down, second hand, on eBay. I was really happy with my wardrobe. Until it didn’t fit.

My medications changed and I started eating more, and pretty soon, it was all for naught. I packed the clothes away, where they waited for three years, and only recently have they come back out. I was so happy to be reunited with these clothes that made me feel so good, so confident. They were strategically drapey and oversized in just the right way. I felt beautiful—not in a sexy kind of way— just really comfortable with myself and my body.

But the thing is, we were in the middle of quarantine (and we still are), and I never got to wear those OOTH clothes. Some time has gone by, and I’ve continued to lose weight. Those clothes fit great at 160 pounds, when I bought them, and in the 160 range when I took them out again (I didn’t know my exact weight at the time). I got down to 154 (my first weigh-in in six months), then 150, and now 147.2. Last night, I tried some things on thinking that now they’d be even more oversized, and would only look better than ever. That was not the case. I tried on my J. Crew wide-leg chinos, and they were too big in the waist to stay up. I got out a belt and cinched them in. They didn’t look quite right. I carried on, and decided to try some tops with the pants. The way they draped only seemed to accentuate my pudgy belly, clinging to it where the belt divided it in two. (Despite being relatively thin, my body is not a perfect shell of hard muscle, and is especially soft in my belly.). I pulled out another pair of pants— my one remaining pair of skinny jeans. I know, I know. We’ve been over and over how I hate skinny jeans. But I hung on to these black ones, thinking that they might come in handy for dressing up. They needed a belt, too.

I put on an oversized, silky camisole, my giant, silky square top, my long-sleeved, silky blouses; and the same thing happened, where you could see the belt (and my belly) through the tops. I was showing Matt all these outfits, asking his opinion, and he said the skinny jeans just didn’t look like me. I looked like I was “going to the club.” I realized he was right. Yes, for the hundredth time now, skinny jeans are not for me. I look skinny on the bottom and too big on top. It’s a proportion thing.

It’s made me wonder if maybe my pencil skirts aren’t really “me” either. I bought those skirts when I was still singing, thinking I’d finally found a silhouette that would work for auditions. I’d discarded all my dresses, and settled on a pencil skirt with one of my long-sleeved drapey blouses as audition-wear. But now that I’m not auditioning or singing concerts, it seems like maybe they’re just too fitted (like the skinny jeans). (I have to admit, I also feel like there’s something just strange about not having any pants on. I always feel more vulnerable in a skirt— less capable.)

So now I’m left thinking that some of my clothes are too tight (skirts, skinny jeans), but most of them are too big. The shirts draped right when I was heavier, and the pants didn’t need a belt. Oversized dressing just isn’t as easy as it looks. Somehow my clothes feel more revealing now that they’re bigger.

Complexities aside, I still feel oversized dressing is the answer. Billie Eilish proved it.

Giant Baby Dresses and Shackets

I’m decluttering a few more things, this time from my OOTH wardrobe (can I make this OOTH thing stick?).

There are officially 5 pairs of pants that are too big.

1. Elastic-waist linen-blend pants that were my go-to every summer and that I’ve hung onto since my top weight of 224.

2. Men’s black pants that I never even got to wear, since I bought them right before COVID.

3. Levi’s 501s which finally fit me the way I always wanted them to, but then I realized I hate them.

4. Men’s grey pants that have been too big for some time.

5. Black skinny jeans that came out of storage and have been in my closet until I remembered that I hate skinny jeans.

The other two items on the chopping block are my green corduroy shirt, which is way too big, and a white see-through high-low hem tunic, which makes me look like a giant baby.

The thing I find funny about this is that these two items are actually in style for probably the first time ever. I can’t tell you how many bloggers are talking about the latest trend of the “shacket,” or shirt-jacket. Suddenly my habit of throwing a heavy button-down over my sweaters or T-shirts has somehow crossed over into trending fashion. Maybe all those trips to Rhode Island coffee shops last winter put this concept on the map. Maybe these people spotted photos of me in a similar green corduroy shirt that I often wore in college.

Probably not. I’m probably just getting to that age where things I wore in my formative years have come full circle and now the kids are wearing them. The nineties are suddenly cool again and Gen Zers are wearing Nirvana T-shirts without any idea what Teen Spirit smells like (for you younger folks, it was actually a deodorant brand marketed to teen girls). But I digress.

The point is, these “shackets” that are making a comeback look suspiciously like those “grunge-style” flannels we’d wear over band tees in 1996. And these giant baby dresses look suspiciously like 90s “babydoll” dresses that I used to buy in those incense-filled “hippie” stores at the mall. I always gravitated to those babydoll styles because they strategically concealed my pudgy belly— the belly that never quite goes away no matter how thin I get. And my attraction to that style never really wore off. Hence my owning this white tunic dress-top (drop? tess?). There’s just always been something I’ve always liked about clothes that resemble antique undergarments. That, combined with the “figure-flattering” silhouette of the babydoll dress, sealed the deal. It just became this inherent part of “my style.”

Now this particular white top was purchased a few years ago and the only time I can remember wearing it was to sing at a concert in Boston. Somehow it seemed appropriate for opera. I bought a cheap Walmart slip-top to wear under it, as it was the only tank-style slip I could find that would cover my bra straps and work well with the flowy, organza-like polyester of the top. I’m pretty sure I paired it with my white pencil skirt and must have resembled some sort of pregnant-woman-slash-baby-in-its-christening-gown. I held this thing up a couple weeks ago and thought, “I can’t WEAR this. I’d look ridiculous.” And STILL I hesitated to get rid of it. “It’s just so flattering,” I thought.

I’d previously tried to declutter it the last time my weight was down, hoping upon hope that it would be too big, but alas it looked “good” at almost any weight. It’s only recently dawned on me that I’m allowed to just not like something, that I’m allowed to—gasp—change my mind about an item of clothing. I did realize this once before, when a few years ago I freely admitted that I hated all of my dresses. as well as anything with ruffles or a puff-sleeve. And somehow, AFTER that epiphany, I bought this white top.

And then, this past summer, we were inundated with a new take on the babydoll dress. I saw them described as “oversized smock dresses” on all the fast-fashion sites. I remember how this trend first cropped up: Jodie Comer, AKA Villanelle, wore an enormous pink chiffon babydoll dress on an episode of Killing Eve.

The thing I found most interesting about this, aside from a comically feminine and infantile dress being worn by a psychopathic assassin, was that the bodice wasn’t fitted. That, too, was oversized. And this significant detail is reflected in all the fast-fashion (and designer) incarnations of that dress.

Upon seeing these dresses on YouTube and Instagram (first on Karen BritChick and then on Brittany Bathgate), I was enthralled. The infinitely “flattering” oversized fit, the Victorian puffed sleeves, the tiered skirts— this was an exaggerated version of everything I’d ever longed for in a dress.

Then I remembered: no dresses, no ruffles, no puff sleeves. These things are infantilizing, and therefore not right for any woman who wants to be taken seriously. So I blocked them out and didn’t even consider partaking in this trend. I thought I was immune.

And then I came across this H&M trapeze dress.

I swooned. It was infinitely flattering— flowing fabric through the body with a delicately ruffled neckline accentuating the collar bones. I wanted it. I wanted it bad. It was only $24.99. And it came in black- a color a giant baby would never wear. I showed it to Matt. “I thought you didn’t like ruffles.” “Right,” I said, “but this is different.” “I thought you didn’t like dresses.” “Right,” I said, “but this is more like a muu-muu or caftan, and plenty of feminists wear those.”

Why was I trying so hard to rationalize this purchase? And why am I so prone to making the same fashion mistakes over and over again in spite of myself? I remembered the last time I owned long, flowy dresses. Matt and I were about to go to Miami for a 6-month stretch for Matt’s work, and I found this outlandish coral-colored maxi tent-dress at Daffy’s (kind of like a high-end T.J. Maxx that no longer exists.). I snapped it up. Tent dresses were hard to come by back then.

Then I started researching maxi tent dresses and came upon the plus-size brand Woman Within. They had many hideous options, but I managed to track down a black, silky one and a brown, gauzy number. And I tried to wear those dresses. I really tried. But any time I wore one out in public, I felt like people were staring at me, and that was never my goal. I also became fixated on how fat my head and arms—the only parts of my body on display— looked in them.

So those dresses went the way of all my dresses— they were donated. But here we are again. I can’t seem to shake this need for giant baby dresses. And now that everyone else is wearing them, I want to join in and actually be on trend instead of being asked if I’m pregnant. But I’m holding out for now.

Quarantine Declutter and Questionable Gym Clothes

Well, it seems it’s time to declutter already. Having gone through the Wardrobe Overhaul only a few months ago, I didn’t see this coming. But staying in the house all the time means my pajamas are taking a beating.

Three of my pajama tees were admittedly old and stretched out, but I kept on wearing them until the holes got utterly ridiculous. Every time I washed them I’d think, “Well, I’ll wear it just one more time.” And it went on that way for far too long. I’ve finally drawn a line in the sand. Here are the shirts, as well as some crime scene photos of the damage.

Then there was the black T-shirt I’d demoted from OOTH (out of the house) clothes to pajamas. It seemed a little too big at the time so I downgraded it. And then I was doing a load of white towels with bleach and I somehow got bleach on said shirt. It’s always a mystery to me how this happens- I’m so careful pouring it in, but then maybe somehow as I’m changing the load to the dryer I inevitably end up with bleach on my clothes. I’ve finally resorted to stripping down completely naked when washing whites. Anyhoo, the bleach not only stained this black T-shirt pink in spots, but it also actually burned a hole right through the fabric, rendering it too far gone, even as a pajama shirt.

My remaining 4 pajama tees are all white and do have these annoying little holes where the pocket meets the shirt, but I’m still wearing them anyway. I justify this by thinking, “Well, no one sees me anyway,” and pointing out those rising numbers of COVID cases once again (why people think the whole pandemic thing is over is beyond me).

But even with the 4 white pocket tees, I still needed a few more to get through the week between laundry sessions. Rather than buying new T-shirts (I still don’t know where my weight will settle), I decided it would make more sense to downgrade some of my OOTH tees (I’m trying to make this anagram a thing- OOTH for “out of the house”). For some reason I was paralyzed by these decisions: Which ones? How many? I’d bought these two white ones to replace those other 2 white ones, but those are still good and actually fit better. I’d downgraded one of the black ones and bleached it already- doesn’t that mean the second black one has to be downgraded, too? These are questions any normal person wouldn’t even bother asking, and yet I found myself flabbergasted.

I tried on all the T-shirts for Matt: yes, those have a nice neckline and sleeve and are newer, but those old ones seem to fit better. Maybe just downgrade 2 of them? The 2 blue ones or the 2 white ones? Or one of each? “Kristin! No one cares!” I’d scream at myself. “It doesn’t matter!” But this made it all somewhat harder. I mean, how do I decide when it doesn’t even matter?

I finally settled on moving all 4 ballet-neck tees (2 white and 2 blue) to the pajama drawer. They’re a major improvement on the ones that had holes in them, and they’re nice and oversized. I subsequently threw one in the dryer and freaked out when it shrunk a tiny bit, but I’ve recovered.

Throughout this major transition, I felt the need to reassure myself that there are, in fact, other T-shirts out there. I checked Old Navy and there were several options. I always go for the slub-knit, loose-fit, scoop or crew neck ones, and they still make plenty, some even in normal colors.

LOFT was disappointing in the T-shirt department, as they seem to have discontinued their production of “Vintage Soft” tees- the ones I love. But J. Crew has an interesting option, and I got an online ad for Pact tees, which have a slub knit and a wide neckline (and are sustainably made).

Aside from T-shirts, I have also had to address the issue of leggings. My Calvin Klein cotton ones are just too big and have to go.

So I decided to go straight to the Danskin website and seek out a pair like the other Danskins that I own and love. I checked the fabric composition of mine and couldn’t find an exact match on the site, but came up with something close. They looked right, aside from a logo on the back, so I hoped for the best and shelled out $40 plus $5.99 for shipping.

Well, they were not the right ones and had to be returned. They were thin and shiny, nothing like the heavy, matte pairs I already have. I’m sure this has something to do with the fact that mine came from Marshalls, and we all know that the stuff from Marshalls and T.J. Maxx is never the same as the real deal. I had this same experience in the past with Calvin Klein jeans and Adidas sneakers, and I just should have known.

I ordered a secondhand pair from Thredup (when I got my handbag) that have the right fabric content and no logo on the back, so here’s hoping they will be better. I got a size Medium, which seems crazy to me, but we are where we are. I have a Large and an Extra Large and they’re both getting kind of loose. With my discount, they were $9.75.

I only wear leggings to run in, so on weight-lifting days I’ve been wearing some experimental outfits. First, there’s a pair of turquoise shorts that I gave to Matt about 10 years ago and he’s only recently given back (they’ve been too small for me until now). They’re pretty silly-looking, but have come in really handy to get me through the week. I’m not sure I actually want to admit that they’re a part of my wardrobe, so we’ll just keep them between us.

My other avant-garde workout number involves a full body sweater that I used to wear for dance or yoga. It very nearly falls into the category of “I look like a giant baby,” but I’ve given it a pass. It’s all black and gives me the sense that at any minute I might launch into some gymnastics moves I saw on YouTube.

The major development, though, has been that I’ve actually started wearing sports bras to lift weights in. I wear the four larger-sized ones, which less-closely resemble tourniquets than the 4 smaller ones I wear on the treadmill. This means I have 8 sports bras at the moment. The smaller ones were set aside after coming out of storage but are now, dare I say, active.

I also started wearing the cotton pajama shorts from storage but had an incident with one pair where the drawstring broke. I plan on repairing it, but that has yet to happen.

I haven’t been wearing T-shirts to work out in because remember—I don’t see anyone anyway—and the sports bras seem sufficient. As it’s grown colder, I have pulled out my Under Armour base-layer top with the little thumb-holes in the sleeves.

In any case, workouts are still going strong despite my deep loathing for exercise. It’s really the only thing I can count on accomplishing at this point, so it’s the only thing I get dressed for. We still have a long way to go before I get to wear OOTH clothes.

I Was Influenced: The Celine Hobo Bag

Well, it was bound to happen. I watch way more fashion-related YouTube than the average person would find tolerable. I’ve heard all about Missoma (or Mejuri) gold jewelry, the Loewe puzzle bag, the Gucci loafers, the By Far square-toe sandals, LilySilk blouses, the Chanel classic flap bag, the Veja white sneakers, the sweaters from Sezane and And Other Stories, the Valentino Rockstud sandals, the Arket T-shirts and linen shirts, the Organic Basics underwear, and of course the subscriptions to Skillshare, the ShopTagr app, and websites from Squarespace. I was bound to be influenced. I just never expected it to be about a handbag.

I’ve never owned a fancy purse and only have one bag in the rotation. My $7 thrifted Aurelia camera-style bag gets stuffed into my backpack or giant TJ Maxx (Adrienne Vittadini) tote bag when I go to a cafe or when I travel. I don’t even bother taking the stuff out. That’s why it came as great shock to me when I saw two of my favorite bloggers/vloggers with this vintage bag- well, bags- and got the bug.

It started with Lizzy Hadfield from Shot From the Street getting a cream vintage Celine hobo bag from Vestiaire Collective (a secondhand site for designer stuff). I took note. It was simple, clean, and a shoulder bag- not a crossbody that gets all tangled up in your coat and scarf. But knowing she spent somewhere in the range of 1,000 British pounds on the thing, I soon forgot its existence.

Until Anna from The Anna Edit got one. Hers was square at the bottom, not round like Lizzy’s, and it was navy blue and black, not cream. She readily admitted to tracking it down having seen it on Lizzy. I went onto Lizzy’s Instagram and discovered something even more interesting. She had the square blue one, too.

So the other night, instead of watching YouTube, I went on Thredup. Knowing full well that I couldn’t spend $633 on a purse (that’s apparently what Anna paid), I embarked on a mission to find a bag that looked like theirs. It wasn’t necessarily the color that got me, but the shape, the single strap that goes all the way from one side to the other, the clean, gently curved base (I’m thinking of Lizzy’s cream one now), the slim profile.

I scrolled through about a thousand bags that night, not even quite sure what I was looking for. I “favorited” lots of bags- small, crossbody bags that could replace my Aurelia (the crossbody strap is a little short), as well as anything that remotely resembled the Celines. And searching wasn’t easy: some were called bucket bags, some totes, some shoulder bags, and some hobos. I just sifted through everything.

The search carried on into the next day and I thought, “By God, I’ve found it!” A cream Marc Jacobs hobo bag that had the right shape, the right color, the right strap- it was a great “dupe” for Lizzy’s cream Celine. And with my discount code, it was only around $60. But I kept looking and I realized that I couldn’t justify buying a bag that big if it didn’t fit my laptop. According to the measurements, my laptop would stick out the top and deform the lovely curved bottom. It also looked heavy. I’m thinking in terms of travel here, and it seemed like it would take up a lot of my weight limit in my suitcase. It was also thicker than the Celine bag- you could see the extra leather from the side and I imagined that it would “bag out” when you put stuff in it. I kept it in my favorites, but I continued the search, this time looking for something that could accommodate a laptop.

I remembered Anna saying she could fit her laptop in her Celine Hobo and it dawned on me that it was the square shape that allowed her to do that. I got very invested in this Allsaints tote, but it also looked heavy for travel.

And then there was the dark horse: this minimal, vertical tote from Neely Mack, a brand which apparently no longer exists. It was all leather and had the slim profile I was looking for, the squarish bottom too. But it had two straps, not one, and they were positioned more in the center rather than at the very sides of the bag. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but it was minimal, a shoulder bag, and seemed lightweight.

I couldn’t decide, so I proceeded to scour the internet for two more days, actually injuring my shoulder and giving myself tension headaches in the process. I looked at actual Celine bags priced at over $1,000. I looked at Marc by Marc Jacobs hobos, especially one known as the “Too Hot to Handle” bag and seriously considered a grey one being sold from the Netherlands for $98. But again, the weight and the laptop issue persisted.

I found Amazon dupes from Pinterest links and perused basic leathergoods sites for something simple. But no amount of searching produced what I was looking for. Because I wasn’t really looking for a bag. I simply wanted to be one of those bloggers.

I wanted to be Lizzy or Anna, effortlessly chic and successful on social media, getting sent free sweaters and $1,000 handbags from companies that want to work with them. I wanted their seemingly easy, breezy lifestyles, snapping a few photos and blogging their days. I wanted a job that it seems like I could do, one that doesn’t involve an office where I cry in the bathroom half the day. And I want to not be in COVID lockdown anymore. I want to go to cafés, go shopping and travel, and I want to feel free.

When the headaches became too much and scrolling with my left hand too awkward, I went back to Thredup where there were things I could actually afford (I even had a $50 credit for sending in my old clothes- more on that soon). I looked at the 3 bags. I studied them. And I settled on the dark horse- the Neely Mack in black, only $37.69 with my discount. I threw in a pair of Danskin leggings (mine are getting big) and called it a day. I know this stuff won’t change anything, not really. But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s finding a deal. So at least there’s that.

My First Weigh-In in Six Months

My last weigh-in at my psychiatrist’s office was February 24, 2020 and I was 168.6 pounds. Since we’ve switched over to telemedicine, I’ve been in the dark about any changes since then. I had my first weigh-in on my new scale on August 14, 2020.

With great trepidation, I stepped onto the seemingly delicate digital scale. It was first thing in the morning (well, afternoon for me since I get up at 2pm), I had peed as much as possible, and I was completely nude. As I stepped onto the scale, I was surprised at how light I felt. I didn’t produce the same impact—the same groaning of the equipment as I had anticipated. I knew the number wouldn’t be in line with my weigh-ins at the office (different scale, no clothes or shoes, no breakfast or coffee beforehand), but it would certainly tell me something. My heart pounded as the numbers flashed and finally stopped: 154.3. That’s a 14.3 pound difference in 6 months, so probably about 10 pounds lost, give or take, with all things considered. This was my lowest weight since a few years ago when I was on Adderall and got down to 152. I was thrilled. But I also didn’t want to let myself get too excited. I knew there would be a psychological impact, and I didn’t know what that would be.

Over the next couple of weeks, I started having graphic binge fantasies: dozens of donuts, endless Reese’s peanut butter cups, bags of peanut butter M&Ms. I wondered how I could get them, and whether it would ever be enough. I headed straight for some online OA meetings. I had to be ready to go to any lengths to keep from going through with a binge. But I couldn’t stop obsessing over it. This went on for 2-3 weeks or so.

It began to register that this probably had something to do with my weigh-in. I thought about Carol Munter’s writing about the subconscious backlash women often experience after losing weight. I thought about the fat/thin fantasies that help reveal your unexpected negative associations with thinness. I tried to think about what this new weight meant to me.

In my mind, I was no longer “fat.” I was a pretty average-sized, or “normal-sized” person. I was around this weight in college, and then when I was in my twenties performing in plays in Cape Cod and RI. I was around this weight after a 20 pound gain following a sexual assault at work and sexual harassment at massage school. I fought against those 20 pounds then, but they wouldn’t budge. I think in my mind they were protecting me from those things happening again.

My February weight of 168.6 pounds was pretty close to 170. I have totally different associations with being that weight. That was my weight after I left OA, when I switched from working in musical theater to singing Wagner and hoping for an operatic career. I thought there would be more respect in opera, more money. I traveled to Germany a few times at that weight. I sang a lot, coaching and auditioning. I was constantly on a diet. I was occasionally asked if I was pregnant.

The difference between these two identities (150 pounds vs. 170 pounds) is far more significant to me than number on a scale. 170 was safer and more respectable, and a heavier body went with my heavier singing voice. 150 was more active, less grounded. At 150 I was dancing, bouncing around from place to place, trying new things.

I remember being a lot sicker, less mentally healthy at 170. But here I was at 154.3, just as sick as I had been in the past at 170. Would people think I was better because I was thinner? Would people be relieved that I didn’t seem as sick because I wasn’t so heavy? Would they expect more of me because I’d lost weight?

It’s no wonder my subconscious wanted to binge and gain that weight back. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was all better. I managed to stay on my diet and exercise regime, and it got easier the more I acknowledged and worked through these thoughts. But just as my mind was settling down, no longer obsessing about bingeing, it was time for another monthly (or once every cycle) weigh-in. (I’d decided to weigh in on the 12th day of my cycle, which is usually about 26 days in total.)

On September 11, 2020 I stepped on the scale again: 150.3. Four pounds down. A big jump for less than a month, and I waited to see if there would be backlash this time. But there wasn’t. The binge thoughts didn’t return, and I went on with my diet and exercise as usual. I attribute it to being in the same psychological “weight identity.” I wasn’t struggling with all those different associations this time.

Today, October 5, I weighed in for the third time: 147.2. I’m in the 140s now, which I haven’t been for about 10 years. Will this next change send me spiraling? We’ll have to wait and see. It does make me start wondering how much weight I actually want to lose. I don’t want to create an unsustainable situation for myself. Do I need to start eating more, eating as much as I want to be eating for the long term? It seems like a good idea at this point, but I’m also keen to lose more weight, and I don’t want to slow that down just yet. I’m apprehensive about more weight loss, and yet the desire for more weight loss never seems to end.

I Bought a Scale, but I Keep It in the Basement

In all of my adult life, I’ve never owned a scale. My issues with food and my weight go all the way back to my very first diet at 5 years old. My (very obese) pediatrician put me on “the gum diet” (chew gum, not snacks) and my fate was sealed. I began my lifelong struggle with overeating, binge eating, constant dieting, and constant weight fluctuations. I started counting calories when I was 9, had a (thankfully brief) bout of bulimia when I was 14, and for all my childhood and teen years binged and dieted daily. I would sneak food to my room every day after school in the 15 minutes before my mom got home from work, having starved myself all day at school. I’d hide sleeves of cookies or crackers and bowls of chips or ice cream under the covers of my bed, eating furtively, ready to shove everything back under the covers if anyone came in my room. If supplies of junk food ran low, I might grab bagels or waffles or microwave pizzas, even resorting to globs of peanut butter mixed with sugar if there was nothing else.

In college I got really into the anti-diet philosophy introduced to me in books by Carol Munter (Overcoming Overeating) and Geneen Roth (Breaking Free from Compulsive Eating). I found peace with food and my body, and a big part of that was taking the advice to never weigh myself. I didn’t want to base my self-worth on a number on the scale. As I relearned what physical hunger felt like, my weight stabilized in a healthy range. I ate whatever I was hungry for, and vowed never to own my own scale. I didn’t believe I could ever have a healthy relationship with the numbers.

Despite my resolve, I’ve somehow managed to find ways to weigh myself over the years. And as life grew more complicated and my mental health declined, I lost that blissful peace with food and my body. My weight went up and down for the next 15 years.

I remember weighing in at the doctor one time in college and being slightly disappointed by the number: 146. I remember when I was working at a gym in my early twenties I used the locker room scale: I was 152 for months despite my efforts to slim down.

I grew very depressed when I was 27 and was barely leaving my apartment when my weight reached the highest it had ever been: I was 183 at my doctor’s visit, where I was also diagnosed with hypothyroidism.

During my subsequent time doing plays in Cape Cod I got down to around 150. I only know this because I would make regular trips to the scale section of a local Kmart and weigh myself in, hiding the scale at the back of the shelves and making sure to use the same one each time (since we all know that every scale is different).

While living in New York a few years later, I actually paid to rejoin a gym solely to use their scale. It was the last one I had used and I wanted to ensure that an update would be accurate.

While staying in Miami for Matt’s work I remember walking almost a mile to a nearby Publix supermarket to pay a quarter for the scale in the lobby. I was 170. Around the same time I joined Weight Watchers, betraying all of my feminist convictions and learning to count points. They gave me a little booklet and every weekly weigh-in produced a sticker with a number on it. I obediently put all the stickers in the little book, documenting my steady progress down from 183 to 163. At the 20 lb. milestone they gave me a keychain and I quit.

In more recent years I’ve secretly used the bathroom scale at my parents’ house, making sure not to eat or drink anything beforehand, quickly whipping off my shoes and clothes and finding the spot on the bathroom floor where I weigh the least. When I was on Adderall a few years ago, I watched my weight go from 211 down to 152, checking in at every family brunch.

For the past 2 years, I’ve been weighing in at my psychiatrist’s office. He has a little digital scale right outside his door and for the first several visits I wouldn’t even look at the number. Eventually I grilled Matt for all the details and soon just started looking at the scale myself. Some weigh-ins were agony, showing less than a pound lost over the 6 weeks between appointments. Others were shockingly good, like the time I lost 11 pounds during our trip to Berlin. I learned to be patient with my progress, feeling sure that this time was different, that I’d never go back to bingeing and gaining weight.

But then COVID happened, and I could no longer go to my doctor’s hospital for visits. We started conducting our appointments over Zoom and I had no way of knowing what my weight was doing. I told myself my weight wasn’t changing much, trying to keep myself from being disappointed when I finally did weigh in. But more and more time went by as our government bungled the management of the pandemic and it kept on spreading. There was no end in sight (there still isn’t) and I realized it would be a really long time before I wanted to risk walking into a hospital.

I started analyzing my body in the mirror: Was I any thinner? Was I gaining? I never got dressed in real clothes so I couldn’t even judge by how my clothes fit. When I started to become convinced that I was regaining all the weight I had worked so hard to lose, I decided it was time to buy my own scale. I knew the number would never coincide with the one on my doctor’s scale, but I could at least start a new marker.

I enlisted Matt in finding a reliable scale, and he found a very helpful article on Wire Cutter that went into great detail. They had tested a number of scales over a period of months, discovering that some scales don’t actually weigh you every time you step on them. They rely on digital memory to simply regurgitate the same number again and again until a large enough difference has been reached. He chose one that actually does weigh you every time and ordered it. Then when it came in the mail he made sure to test it himself. He used a level to find the flattest spot in the house, weighed himself, and then added a 6-pound weight which it registered exactly.

I credit Matt with the idea to only weigh myself on the same day of each menstrual cycle so hormonal fluctuations don’t affect the results (don’t ask me why everyone doesn’t do this). And I decided the best thing would be to keep the scale in the basement so I won’t be tempted to weigh myself more often. Clearly I am prone to an unhealthy obsession with my weight and I don’t want to make myself crazy. I still worry about the day that my weight goes up, or even stays the same. But this seems like the best solution for now, and hopefully I won’t be making any clandestine trips to the basement.

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 4: TMI (Socks and Underwear)

Here are my socks, all 28 pairs. They all have special purposes which I won’t bore you with, but there they are. I actually made a little more room after decluttering 9 pairs in my recent clearout.

I’d bought 6 pairs of thin crew socks before our last trip to Germany, but during my recent clearout I got rid of 3 of them. Then I came across an old pile of discarded socks. I liked some of those better than the newer ones, so I traded them out for the remaining 3. These are the ones I’m keeping. Riveting, I know.

Here are my 2 pairs of tights, which finally fit. The black ones are Old Navy and the purpley ones are American Apparel. Those ones have lasted me many years- I definitely recommend them.

These 3 bras came out of storage. I’m not thrilled with them, but I don’t really need them during the pandemic, so they’ll do for now. The first 2 are Maidenform, and they shift around awkwardly on me now. The black one is better. It’s a Marshalls/T.J.Maxx special. I think they’ve had these bras for about 20 years, and they cost about $7. I absolutely love them- René Rofé is the rather sleazy brand. But this one style they used to make is the best. This is the most similar thing I can find.

These are all the new underwear from storage. Mostly my usual Warner’s “No Muffin Top” Hipsters, 12 pairs in microfiber, 3 in a siky material, and 1 in cotton. The last 2 pairs are some high-waisted briefs for wearing under certain clothes that would otherwise show my belly button. I guess I’m just thinking of my white skirt, which I don’t tuck anything into anyway. So I don’t know why I’m keeping them. But they were in the bin and so they’re there for now. That’s 18 pairs.

The following is my smorgasbord of shapewear and slips. First we have a bodysuit that fit me at a larger size, but works fine now, too. All of the other pieces just came out of storage. The second piece is a pair of “slip shorts” for wearing with skirts in summer; they’re a brilliant solution to the “chub rub” issue. They also work well over tights to keep your skirt from riding up in winter. They’re really lightweight and soft, not like shapewear. I think they’re Jockey. Next we have a pair of “petti-pants” that are like a slip version of culottes. I have no use for them, but I find them adorable.

Next is a waist-cincher that I bought to wear under my wedding top and skirt, along with the Bridget Jones-style giant underpants next to them. The long slip was for the wedding outfit, too. I don’t know why I’m keeping these things. I don’t plan on wearing my wedding dress anywhere. It’s stored in an archival box on the top shelf of my closet for safekeeping. But again, they were in the bin and so they’re there for now.

Finally, we have my robes. The kimono style one on the left is something I stole from my husband (it was a gift from his parents some years ago). The white one is just a Lands’ End terrycloth bathrobe.

This isn’t exactly a minimalist collection of socks and underwear, so the minimalist police are definitely going to come for me. I may lose my membership. But I’m just taking my time with all this new stuff from storage, throwing it at the wall and seeing what sticks. If I start to feel like it’s too much, I can cut back then.

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 1: Closet Declutter

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 2: The Bin of Smaller Clothes

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 3: Smaller Pajamas and Gym Clothes

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 3: Smaller Pajamas and Gym Clothes

There’s more that came out of the storage bin. Since I got rid of every T-shirt and tank top I owned, I needed to replace them with something. Luckily, there were options in the bin.

These 7 identical T-shirts are from Saks Off Fifth- the “down brand” of Saks Fifth Avenue. The quality isn’t great (there are holes where the pockets attach in half of them), but I love the boxy fit and wide neckline. The navy camisole is from the LOFT outlet, and it is the exact same cut as my silky camisoles, but in jersey. The black and white tanks are Old Navy. Finally there are two long-sleeve Cuddl Duds shirts that are super soft but kind of tight. We’ll see if they become good layering pieces in winter.

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There’s also this. It’s a flannel nightgown I’ve been in denial about owning. It’s really warm in winter.

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Then there are the new pajama pants I recently bought from GAP. I like the black ones on the left better than the charcoal grey. They have a wider waistband and different pockets, and I think they’re actually longer in the leg. Both are really lightweight and made of silky-soft modal.

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Finally, there are the items left over from my last pajama capsule. The first three pairs of shorts are the same, made of a soft jersey. The navy shorts are a cut-off pair of men’s jersey athletic pants in a very large size. The hoodie is lightweight and stretchy- perfect for sleeping. The grey-striped GAP pajama pants are similar to the new ones- lightweight modal. The pink pajama pants are heavier, but still soft and stretchy. And those slippers are falling apart. They’re really gross but I still wear them.

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That comes to a total of 23 items for pajamas.

On to gym clothes. The only two workout items to come out of storage are a pair of Danskin leggings and this body sweater I used to wear to dance class or yoga- both things I no longer do. But alas, I keep it.

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Here are the new running shoes I got a couple months back. I love that they’re a neutral color. They’re just the updated version of my old New Balance running shoes- 860 I think?

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These items will be added to the remaining gym capsule shown below.

I have 4 sports bras; 2 fit tighter than the others and so I wear them for running. The other 2 are for what, I’m not sure. Sometimes I’ll throw one on for weight lifting days, on the rare occasion I bother to wear a bra. They’re all from Old Navy of all places. They were literally the best ones I could find for high impact exercise that also didn’t cut in under the arms. I even tried Athleta sports bras on, and only managed to injure myself in the dressing room. Old Navy won out.

My fleece is my go-to layer, essential if I’m going braless at the gym. But now that we work out at home it’s more for running in my cold, cold office/treadmill room, which has no heat. The Under Armour hoodie and base layer top are for cold weather running, and the leggings are for running in general. The blue ones are Danskin and really good quality- the same as the smaller black ones that just came out of storage. The cropped ones are Calvin Klein Performance and not as good.

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This gives me only 12 items of gym wear. Keep in mind that the pajama tops will double as gym tops.

There are also a handful of items which will stay in storage for now because they are too small: If my weight continues to go down, I’ll swap out my size XL sports bras for these identical ones in size L. These woven cotton pajama shorts got a little small in the dryer, but I’m keeping them in case they become feasible this summer.

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This concludes the overview of my new, smaller pjs and gym stuff. It feels funny to wear things that actually fit me instead of the T-shirts I was drowning in. But I’ve gotten used to it over the past few weeks, and it is more comfortable.

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 1: Closet Declutter

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 2: The Bin of Smaller Clothes

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 2: The Bin of Smaller Clothes

After the Wardrobe Overhaul Part 1: Closet Declutter, I opened the bin of smaller clothes and sorted through it. I decided to keep or store all but 4 items, so even after the clearout I am left with 54 items in my current wardrobe, up from 29 in my last Capsule Wardrobe Update. Here are the new additions:

First, of course, are T-shirts. I got rid of a lot of T-shirts, but luckily there were a lot in storage to replenish my supplies. The first six are from LOFT; the blue and white ones are a ballet-neck style, while the grey and green have a banded hem and sleeve. The black tees are Old Navy, and the last two white ones are Cynthia Rowley Woman. All of the white T-shirts are fairly see-through, so I’m not sure how I’ll manage that. I guess they’re fine with a nude bra underneath, and for much of the year I layer sweaters over them anyway. I might have to double them up to wear this summer, though.

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Then there are a few casual tops that are not T-shirts. The camisole on the left is an Ebay auction win (it’s hard to believe anyone else was coveting this scrap of a thing). I used a sniper trick to bet my highest bid just before time ran out and snagged it for $13 and change. I used to have this exact top in brown that I’d bought at Old Navy when I lived in New York. It was somehow perfectly flattering and indispensable in the summer months, but I got rid of it when it got too small. I was thrilled to come across it years later on Ebay in my size.

This dress is something I refer to as “the Paris dress” because I got it on our first trip to Paris. It’s beautifully made in a lovely cotton fabric. Returning to the small boutique years later, I was disappointed to find it had changed hands and internet searches for the label, Bella Blue, didn’t come up with anything quite like it.

These two ponte-knit swing-style tops were on sale at GAP and they are quite possibly The Most Flattering Thing Ever on my body. I only bought one at first, but then searched online to find a second color in my size. Not available for online order, I had to settle for one at a store within a radius of 25 miles. Mission accomplished.

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Next are the dressy things. The navy blouse on the left has a cool tulip cross-over back hem and I of course love the swing shape. This long, white, sheer tunic is something that I keep going to get rid of but then I put it on and it just looks great, at a variety of sizes.

These two identical long-sleeve blouses are a gorgeous silky material and are by Vince Camuto, who does a great criss-cross hem type thing. I got them at a Nordstrom Rack in Portland, Oregon while Matt was working at the opera company there. They’re my go-to for any opening night when it’s not sweltering.

Finally, we have my wedding kimono, an ASOS Curve find that I wore over my white top and skirt at our formal wedding party (we were already married a year and a half earlier at City Hall).

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On to sweaters and jackets. The cashmere sweater on the left is by Vince, a super pricey brand that does amazing sweaters (my grey long sleeve cashmere sweater is also Vince). This short-sleeve asymmetrical blouson top is wonderfully oversized and was found with its heather-grey twin for $5.99 at Salvation Army. I snagged them both and had at them with the cashmere comb. I sold the grey one on Ebay but had to keep the black for myself.

The white sweater is just a great, lightweight summer cardigan. The cashmere sweater in camel in the center is by J. Crew Collection and I got it on Thredup with a 40% discount code to boot. They go for almost $300 on the J. Crew website but I got mine for around $24, in perfect condition. The wide blush cotton sweater is another great throw-on piece for spring and summer. The cropped swing rain jacket is by Norma Kamali (probably via her Walmart line) and I got it at a Savers a few years ago.

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Pants and skirts: The black skinny jeans are super stretchy, more like jeggings, and for some reason when skinny jeans are black I don’t hate them. The blue and white wide-leg pants are J. Crew, bought on sale. I love how truly wide they are, and they are my favorites. The two identical pairs of black joggers are T.J. Maxx finds, the first pair before a trip to Germany, and the second pair 2 months later when we got back (on one of those magical Marshalls/T.J. Maxx quests I go on with my mom).

The black pencil skirt is a heavy stretch knit and I love that it doesn’t have a back slit (that back vent always makes me feel like I’m flashing someone). The green linen-y skirt is J. Crew, but found at Salvation Army on dollar day. I miss dollar day. Maybe they’ll bring it back now that we’re in a major recession.

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Belts. (These aren’t included in my number of items since they’re accessories.). The skinny braided belt is from Old Navy, the medium-width GAP black leather one was a Savers find, and the studded, embellished “cowboy” belt was a Savers find back in my high school days. I still love it.

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The following items are staying in storage for now. They don’t fit at the moment; they’re either too small or just fit differently than they used to. I’m going to wait and see if that changes. The first two tops are my beloved silky camisoles from LOFT. The feather-print tank in the middle is Joie and 100% silk (another Ebay find). The shorts are Old Navy, yet are somehow different from the almost identical shorts they make now and are therefore irreplaceable.

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These are the items from the bin I got rid of. Skinny jeans, my nemesis. And yoga pants, which just look outdated next to leggings.

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Now these are the remaining items from my previous wardrobe that I’m hanging onto. Outerwear is staying for now because I don’t know what exact size I’ll be come Fall/Winter and I don’t really mind my coats being too big. That green shirt is way too big, but I still feel inclined to keep it. I like the color.

My oversized hoodie, of course I’m keeping, especially since succesfully repairing the hole in the cuff. Some of these sweaters fit quite well and the ones that are big look just fine anyway. My big square-shaped blouse may not be my first choice now that I have other options, but it could be good for dressing up in the heat.

The white skirt is still skating by for now, as are the way-too-big linen-blend pants. The jeans actually fit me better now more than ever, and those size 38 grey pants are still hanging on even without a suitable belt. I guess the cowboy belt could step in if need be.

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There it is. All 54 items. Not really minimalist anymore, is it? I imagine I’ll refine my wardrobe over time, and might have to get rid of things if they get way too big. But at this point it feels like a lot. I don’t know when I’d have the time or occasion to wear so many things. But I love each item- they were carefully chosen- and I think I’ll just take my time with it.

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 3: Smaller Pajamas and Gym Clothes

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 1: Closet Declutter

The Sizeable Discard Pile consisted of 39 items (plus socks and underwear) that I had cycled through during the first 8 months of weight loss. I was supposed to send the lot to Thredup in the 3 giant bags they’d sent me. That never happened. I guess I was waiting until I used the clothes to make a “closet declutter” video for YouTube.

I made the video, but I hated it. It just wasn’t me. I was wearing makeup and acting like losing weight was the secret to happiness. I was trying to imitate the YouTube videos I had seen so frequently- the clean, white interior with the requisite plant in the corner, the cheerful demeanor, the cutaways to me modeling the clothes. Ultimately, I was embarrassed by it. The thought of anyone I knew seeing it appalled me. So I scrapped it and waited until I could start over.

Months went by. Tumbleweed rolled through my office where I had stashed the stuff. Sometimes I was tempted to just say “fuck it” and send it all away in the mail. But I still held onto this idea that I’d make a video, and so I held onto the clothes, too.

Well, I finally did it: I made a video. I sent off the Thredup bags (plus an extra box). I included the results of this most recent clearout as well, which I documented over the course of a week. Hopefully I’ll feel better about this video and will actually let you see it.

After The Sizeable Discard Pile back in August of 2019, I reneged on the tan Supergas, but everything else stayed in the pile.

Since then, I’ve parted with a few pairs of pants: the size 38 Levi’s, the size 40 Levi’s, the size 40 grey men’s pants, and the size 12 skinny jeans.

I also stopped wearing these two bras which got too big, replacing them with just one bra before our trip to Germany. And then of course there were the bedraggled pink Everlane tees that I loathed.

But once I opened up the storage bin of smaller clothes last week, I realized it was time for a major clearout and overhaul. I started by decluttering the pajamas I’ve been wearing since I was 224 pounds. First are the 8 Old Navy XXL gym and sleep tees in grey and blue, as well as 4 sleep tanks in the same size:

Then there was a grey LOFT sleep hoodie I wasn’t crazy about, some taupe pajama pants that were too big, and two pairs of navy Ralph Lauren pajama pants that I just plain wore out this year:

There were gym clothes to be decluttered. Both of my Under Armour leggings, the “cold gear” and the “heat gear” seemed to slide down when I ran, so those unfortunately had to go. The same was true for my RBX joggers that I used to wear as an outer layer for cold weather running. And I finally conceded that my black sweatpants were too short and too worn out to hang onto.

There was also an Old Navy sweatshirt with three-quarter sleeves that I never really figured out the point of; I think I just got it on sale for less than a dollar and couldn’t resist. And then my running shoes were retired a couple months back and replaced; I’d had them for two and a half years and I was overdue for new ones.

When it comes to everyday clothes, or my capsule wardrobe, the big purge was in the T-shirt department. I got rid of all 6 GAP Factory tees- the 2 black, 2 white, and 2 navy. I finally let go of the size 20 ASOS ones in black and grey. And as much as I wanted to hold onto them, I had to say goodbye to my 3X J. Crew navy blue tees. I really loved them, but they were falling off my shoulders and I couldn’t even stand to sleep in them, so they had to go.

I got rid of 2 pairs of pants: the men’s black dress pants from Ebay that I barely got to wear before they got too big, and my too-big size 14W black skinny jeans which had survived many a wardrobe changeover. Also going are all three belts, including my Dickies men’s leather belt, which was difficult to part with.

Hang in there; it’s almost over. Both my bathing suit and my swimming shorts/top combo had to go (too big).

Six pairs of 3-year-old winter socks were worn out, as well as 3 newer pairs of thin crew socks.

And then there’s this secret pair of brand-new GAP joggers with the tag still on that I’ve never mentioned until now (I had two other identical pairs that I did actually wear).

Lastly, there’s the bra I bought back in October, right before our last trip to Germany, which has since gotten too big.

I’m holding onto a stack of underwear that are a bit too big, just because they were expensive and purchased not too long ago and I can’t bear to toss them in the trash just yet. Two of my four sports bras fit slightly larger, so they’ve gotten too big to wear for running, but again, they were expensive and hard to find, so I need some time before they go.

But otherwise, that covers it. That comes to 41 items out the door, plus my pile of socks. Add to that 4 items from storage I got rid of straight away, and it comes to 45. Add in the 38 items (plus socks and underwear) from The Sizeable Discard Pile, and it comes to 83 items. Add to that the stuff that had been decluttered during the interim (8 items) and you get a whopping 92 pieces of clothing.

The whole process was far more time-consuming and emotional than expected. I mean, I had a relationship with those T-shirts; it was hard to let them go. And what’s with hanging on to the underwear and sports bras that are too big? Is it fear that I’ll gain the weight back and need them? I don’t know; I feel fairly confident about my diet and exercise habits being a permanent institution.

Maybe it’s just the change in body size. Hiding in those oversized clothes made it easier to pretend my body wasn’t really changing in any visible way. I don’t know if I like the idea of wearing clothes that actually fit. Will people see me differently? Will I see myself differently? Will I become vain? Will I stop caring whether clothes come in plus sizes and just obliviously recede into the straight-size blogosphere?

Hopefully the quarantine will give me some time to adjust to my changing body- and my changing wardrobe. I need to allow myself room to figure out just what I feel comfortable wearing and what I don’t. I’m thinking back to my analysis of my smaller clothes and whether they fit in with my more recent style inclinations. Maybe that can serve as a guide to keep me connected to who I really am and how I want to dress going forward.

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 2: The Bin of Smaller Clothes

Wardrobe Overhaul Part 3: Smaller Pajamas and Gym Clothes