Taking Inventory of Stuff in Storage

May 10, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Minimalism

Well, I finally bit the bullet and sifted through every item in my storage bin, as well as the bottom drawer of my dresser. My husband questioned why I was putting myself through this when I knew that most of the clothes would still be too small. And I suppose the answer is that I feel a somewhat compulsive need to make sure I am wearing everything that fits. It's like I don't want to miss out on wearing something before it's too late and I've moved on to smaller sizes. So I went through everything, setting aside the items that might possibly fit to try on. Things I was sure were too small went right back into the bin, after writing down every piece and where I was keeping it. I carefully folded everything "Kon-Mari" style and was somewhat surprised at the volume of clothes I own (see photo). I was also surprised at how few of them are even relevant to my current size. Most of them are for a much lower weight. It seems that I fall into that cliche of investing more money in clothes when I'm thin than when I'm fat. This is a behavior many clothing retailers use to justify not making plus size clothes. It's absolutely not an accurate assessment for many women and I wish I had the confidence to be one of them. How refreshing to see women accept themselves as they are, in all their plus sized glory. There are some great blogger/YouTubers who embody this ideal: AndIGetDressed on YouTube and @itsmekellieb on Instagram is my favorite of the bunch. She never succumbs to "dressing for her body type" or any of that shaming garbage. She wears all kinds of clothes, always colorful and trendy and with no intention of hiding her body in any way. Alas, I am not so comfortable in my own skin when I'm in plus sizes, and am an utter cliche of thinking "thinner is better," at least for me. So I'm losing weight and looking forward to the day when my "skinny clothes" fit. I really find this way of thinking appalling, but it seems I can't change my mindset, no matter how many hours I spend in front of the mirror reciting how much I love myself. So I'm full-on dieting and going to the gym like all the other lemmings. I don't know what will happen in the future, but this is my current state, mental health being a major factor in my outlook. Being heavy seems to exacerbate my self-hatred and suicidal thoughts, and avoiding those symptoms is my main justification for doing what I'm doing. Ideally, I'd like to just eat intuitively and moderately and accept my weight wherever it falls, but I seem incapable of that at my current level of mental health. I stopped trusting my body's hunger signals after the intense cravings I experienced on Seroquel and it's hard to get over that.

But back to the clothes. Once I'd removed the smallest clothes, I was left with a much smaller pile- say, maybe a quarter of the total mess. Nine pieces of capsule-worthy clothing actually fit and are going to be joining my current wardrobe. Four GAP Factory T-shirts, two black and two navy, are being revived, since they seem to fit better now and I love the shape with the scoopneck and scoop hemlines. The grey men's pants I bought fairly recently that were a bit too small at first are now quite comfortable. A pair of black (size 16) Ann Taylor tailored trousers from my office-working days fit perfectly. A cotton oatmeal sweater from LOFT fits nicely, and is perfect for spring and summer when I put away my cashmere. A tan cotton anorak jacket from Old Navy is also great for the season and zips up comfortably. And then there's a black open cardigan which is on probation for being an acrylic mess of pilling and lint. The design is so great that it's a real heartbreaker that it hasn't worn well- but I've only washed it once or twice and it's barely justifiable at this point. These items are not utterly necessary to add to my capsule, but my need to not "miss out" means I'm putting them into the closet and making them available. I could definitely clear some things out at this point- there are things that are too big. But I'm going to declutter another day, so for the moment, my capsule has ballooned to 39 items.

Other things that now fit me are in the workout and pajama categories. My winter Under Armour running gear- Cold Gear leggings, base layer top, and water-resistant hoodie- all fit, as well as three other pairs of leggings and a light 3/4 sleeve sweatshirt from Old Navy. The other leggings are Danskin cotton blend in navy, Calvin Klein Performance cotton blend in black, and Under Armour Heat Gear synthetic in black with mesh cut outs. Three pairs of pajama pants are also added to the mix: two identical navy cotton Lauren Ralph Lauren joggers and one grey and white striped pair of joggers from GAP. The afore-mentioned pajama shorts are coming out too- two black and one palm-print from Isaac Mizrahi.

The remaining storage items amount to a lot. Like just the capsule items alone come in at about 50 pieces. Will this be my future wardrobe? Am I going from a minimalist capsule wardrobe to a more average collection of clothes? Will these items fit in with my evolving style? We shall see. That's still in the future. I'd best not get ahead of myself.

Here are the capsule items coming out of storage:

Here are the workout clothes:

Here are the pajamas:

Crunching Numbers and Capsule Wardrobe Updates

May 01, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Minimalism, Capsule Wardrobe

Since Black Friday 2018, here are the numbers. It’s now the end of April.

Number of Clothing Items Purchased: 30

Number of Items Returned: 11

Number of Items Kept: 19

Total Spent on Shoes/Clothing After Returns: $382.16

Capsule Wardrobe Items Added: 13

Shoes Added: 2

Pajamas/Gym Wear/Accessories/Storage Added: 4

Current Capsule Wardrobe Count: 30

Current Shoe Count: 13

I feel pretty comfortable with the numbers in terms of my capsule and my shoes, but my spending is pretty shocking. For someone who's attempting to keep a small wardrobe, that's a lot of money to spend in 5 months- $77 a month blows my mind. Of course, a good chunk of that was on boots, and many initial items were for my increased weight, but still. Let's look a little closer:

Number of Items for Weight Gain: 9

ASOS T-Shirt 3-Pack $24.00

2 J. Crew Supima Cotton Tees $43.80

Cable and Gauge Green Sweater $19.99

Black Skinny D. Jeans $19.99

Blue Skinny D. Jeans $19.99

Columbia Zip-Up Fleece $26.99

Total $154.76

Really not bad for a 30 pound weight change. Granted, none of the items were ethically or sustainably made, but in terms of finding bargains, I did well. 8 items were for my newly formed capsule wardrobe, and the fleece was for my gym capsule. In the past, I had gone through a 59 lb. weight loss and had to replace all of my clothes, including bras and underwear, gym clothes, and even pajamas. I shopped very carefully with the capsule wardrobe idea in mind, but still ended up spending around $1,000. So $154.76 for a 30 lb. gain is really nothing compared to that. Now one reason for only having to buy 9 items with this most recent weight gain is that I did have some things in storage. The last time my weight was up quite high (around 211 to be exact), I had some clothes my mom bought me that I really liked. I couldn't bear to part with them when I lost weight, so I was able to pull them out the next time around the scale. Some of these items that are in my current capsule include my trouser jeans from Lands' End, my linen pants by Merona, and my purple-grey shawl cardigan from Sonoma. This is a great example of the "Weight Change Capsule Wardrobe" in action; keeping extra clothes for weight fluctuation can be a really good idea for some. Both my coats are holdovers from that time, as well as my black silky oversized blouse, some black pull-on pants, and my black and white striped top (stretchy or oversized clothes are obviously good for in-between weights as they are more forgiving of any minor fluctuations).

Now let's look at the more recent spending. These purchases were not for the sake of a weight change, though my weight is on the way down. These clothes reflect my changing style, incorporating masculine elements with my otherwise minimalist look:

Burgundy Shawl Cardigan $10.99 Thrifted

Light Blue Hanes Tee $2.99 Thrifted

Green Corduroy Shirt $6.24 Thrifted

Navy Blue Men's Pants $8.99 Thrifted

Khaki Men's Old Navy Pants $2.44 Thrifted

Grey Flannel Men's Pants $2.79 Thrifted

Taupe EveryBody Pajama Pants $7.99

Adidas Black Stripe Sneakers $34.99

Carolina Logger Boots $134.99

Dickies Black Leather Belt $14.99

Total $227.40

If I separate the boots, the rest only comes to $92.41, mostly due to the fact that a lot of things were thrifted. And in the case of the boots, though they were expensive, the quality is very good, and I plan to wear them for years to come. On the ethical/sustainable point, the thrifted items are a good thing, but the other items are not. These were things I could not find used and could not find a sustainable option for that fit. Five items are officially being added to my 25-Item Capsule Wardrobe, bringing my total number of items up to 30. The grey men's pants are too small (I was kidding myself a bit when I bought them), and are going into storage. The taupe pajama pants are obviously for my pajama capsule, the belt is an uncounted accessory, and the shoes are being added to my shoe collection, now up to 13 pairs (keep your eye out for a shoe declutter post coming soon). When all is said and done, I think my shopping ethics have improved, thrifting 6 out of 10 of the most recent items, versus my pre-capsule record of 9 all-new bargain-priced items. And a 30-item capsule wardrobe feels just fine to me. I don't feel the need to scale back when my weight is still in flux. I'm going to wait and see what happens as I explore my options in storage and reassess my shoe collection.

Here’s what I started my capsule with:

Here’s what I bought to get it up to 25 items:

And here are the most recent additions to my capsule wardrobe:

Non-capsule items mentioned:

Smaller Clothes and Warm Weather Dressing

April 29, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Food

I've come to a bit of a crossroads with my wardrobe. I think I'm finally at the point where I need to start swapping out my current clothes for the smaller ones I have in storage. I was wearing a pair of cotton poplin pajama shorts the other night; they have an elastic waist as well as a ribbon drawstring. The elastic is way too big on me, so they were being held up by cinching the ribbon in really tight. But ribbon is slippery, so they kept coming undone and falling down to my husband's great entertainment. So with great trepidation, I dug into my bottom dresser drawer that is currently used for storage, and pulled out three pairs of smaller pajama shorts. I tried a pair on and they fit, but I haven't actually worn them yet. I'm very hesitant to start pulling out smaller clothes- what if they're still too small? I don't want to jump the gun and then be disappointed. But I tried wearing a pair of blue skinny jeans the other day and as I moved around, they, too, fell down comically. And then I noticed my navy J. Crew T-shirts were looking a little big in the bust and the armholes were a bit revealing. I had been drip-drying them after washing them in cold, but since this development I decided to take the risk and throw them in the dryer on low to shrink them up a bit. That worked out fine- I don't see a huge difference, plus it makes laundry easier. And today when I put on my Vince grey cashmere sweater, I looked in the mirror and was surprised to see that it hung pretty much straight down in front, unobstructed by my belly. I've already downsized in the bra department; I started wearing some bralettes that were too small a few months ago. And my sports bras have switched out from two white low-impact ones to two black high-impact ones. Since I've started running intermittently, I needed the support, and since the weight loss, they do fit now. All of these little adjustments have snuck up on me. Until now, I haven't admitted that my clothes are getting to be too big for me. But I guess that time has come where I need to reach into the recesses of my storage bins and see what's what. I keep trying to remember what I was wearing before I sized up to my current clothes. I know the grey Gap joggers were in there- I remember them being too big when I first got them and having to cinch in the drawstring. But aside from that, I don't remember much. Some T-shirts probably stayed the same, along with my silky oversized blouse and striped top. But what was I doing for pants? And at what point did those old pajama pants fit? And why don't I have any summer shorts in between my current ones and the smallest? Maybe I didn't need warm-weather clothing at this weight. But yes, I did- my current shorts are what I wore last spring at 197 pounds (I'm around 198 now). It's weird to think that a year later, I'm right back down to the same weight. And two years ago I was actually down to 152 at some point. That's a lot of weight to be gaining and losing. Clearly I need to bite the bullet and take a full inventory of my storage. Especially now that the weather is (annoyingly) getting warmer and sunnier.

Dressing for summer at this weight is certainly no great joy for me. Wearing a regular underwire, foam-cup bra is just asking for a rash, so that's where the bralettes have come into play. They have a T-back with lace running down the back, so they look fine even when you can see them. I remember finding a two-pack at Marshalls and going on a "quest" for more. It was a success, but I didn't like the color combinations in the two-packs. So I used my tagging gun (so worth the $9 investment) to put the two offending colors back on the hanger and returned them. I am truly shameless, but I am happily left with four colors I like: black, navy, pale pink, and a rosy pink. Those two white sports bras are good for wearing under T-shirts in hot weather, too. But aside from the bra issue, there is still plenty of chafing to look forward to. I bought some rose-scented talc-free powder on Amazon last year that worked well for between my thighs and under my bralettes. For exercise, I always stuck with my leggings as opposed to shorts for any outdoor running or walking no matter how hot it got. Which means that those leggings in my bottom drawer might actually fit me now, so I could get rid of my current workout pants which are almost completely worn through in the crotch (sorry, there's a lot of TMI in this post). But I still feel great trepidation in making these changes. Is it just the fear of finding out I'm not as thin as I think? Or is it really the fear of gaining the weight back and not having any clothes? I had planned on selling my too-big clothes on Ebay, but maybe I'll hold off for a while until I feel more confident in my new weight. And a lot of my clothes can stay the same- I like oversized things anyway, so plenty of my tops will still work just fine. But today just might be the day for finding out what's what: for trying everything on that I think might fit and facing the mirror. Hopefully my head isn't too far ahead of my body and I won't be too disappointed.

I Found the Sneakers, and the Fat-Thin Fantasy

April 24, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Food

I found the sneakers. They have black stripes, not silver, but they are super comfortable and exactly the look I was going for. My mom and I went on one of our famous "quests," hitting up a TJ Maxx in another town in search of the shoes. And like so many times before, we were successful. Until we started to drive out of the parking lot and realized we had a completely flat tire. My father was called, yet proved useless in this situation, claiming he hadn't changed a tire in 20 years. So we call Triple A and walked over to a nearby Starbucks to wait. They arrived much more quickly than we'd expected, so I had to chase after my mom who had broken into a run back to the car, coffee in hand. When I relayed the conversation with my dad to the extremely nice mechanic, he told me to tell my dad that "the same rules still apply" from 20 years ago. Once we had the spare on and got in the car, my mom immediately asked if we should continue on to another TJ Maxx to look for a silver-striped pair of sneakers. When my mom is on a quest, she is unstoppable. I laughed and suggested we head home on the little donut-tire instead, but since then, I can't say the thought of hitting another TJ's hasn't crossed my mind. Frequently. And this is the point where I start to wonder about my mild hoarding tendencies with clothes: my propensity for buying multiples. I rationalize this behavior with my capsule wardrobe mentality: I'm very selective, and I wear clothes more frequently, so I should stock up for when they wear out. To some extent this is extremely practical. I often long for items I've loved that have acquired holes and are beyond repair. You can never find them again- they always change the style or just discontinue them completely and you're left misty-eyed and pining for that perfect T-shirt or pair of shoes. So my secret obsession has set in with these sneakers. I think about them several times a day, arguing the pros and cons in my head. Buying a second pair means I have a backup- and since these are pretty cheaply-made shoes, that seems justified. But oftentimes my tastes change and I'm left with multiples, tags still attached, and end up selling them on Ebay for less than I paid originally. The other consideration is that maybe it's good to leave the possibility for something new to come into my wardrobe. Maybe I'll find something I like even better, and my backups will just be cast aside. I'm really on the fence in this case after my failed attempts at online shoe-shopping. Another factor in all this has often been my fluctuating weight. While less of an issue with shoes, I've often been left with multiples that never got worn because my weight changed dramatically. And when my weight changes, often my style changes too. Historically, when I've gained weight, I've gone for drapier, stomach-camouflaging styles. And when I've lost weight, I've gone for more feminine, tighter-fitting, more objectifying styles. It's strange that no matter how firm my feminist convictions seem to be, when I "pass as thin," I fall into that trap of dressing in more revealing clothing, despite my true preferences. I dress in clothing that is typically pleasing to men, that simultaneously dilutes my personhood. There's an exercise in Overcoming Overeating by Jane R. Hirschmann and Carol Munter where these types of clothing associations are explored. It's called the Fat-Thin Fantasy. First you are to imagine yourself growing larger, very fat, and really try to feel what that would be like. Then imagine where you are- where do you see yourself? What are you doing? What are you wearing? How do people see you, and you them? While at first you may see the situation as obviously negative: dark, baggy clothes, isolating yourself, appearing very serious, etc., you can eventually see positives in the situation. How is this situation serving you? Maybe it allows you some much-needed privacy, some longed-for solitude, some groundedness, some respect from people for your ideas and not your body. Perhaps there are perfectly good reasons for wanting to be fat. And then the exercise asks the reverse: imagine yourself getting very thin, smaller and smaller, until you really feel in your body what that would be like. And at first, all you can see are the positives- getting attention, wearing sexy clothes, being very social, laughing and chatting casually. But eventually, when you look deeper, you can often find negatives to being thin. Perhaps you feel vulnerable, childlike. Perhaps you feel overwhelmed by sexual attention, valued only for what you look like and not for who you are. And you find that thinness is not necessarily all it's cracked up to be. These hidden meanings are significant for me in my struggle with my weight. And when I'm thin, I inevitably find myself tempted to objectify myself, even though that's not what I want. And perhaps I eat more and grow fat in part to prevent this phenomenon. I gain weight to be taken seriously and as an excuse to be anti-social. And so this time around, as I lose weight, I'm trying to promise myself that even when I'm thin, I will maintain my integrity. I will wear men's pants and boots. I will allow myself privacy and solitude. Just because I'll be thin, I won't be required to be sexy or social or even happy. I won't need to be fat to hide. I'll still be a complete person, still be allowed all of my moods and complexities. I'll stay me.

These two books are amazing:

I Hate Nice Weather, and Sneakers.

April 20, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Mental Illness

I’m afraid I've made a terrible mistake. I've been searching for a pair of white sneakers- you know the ones. The ubiquitous thick-soled all-white "trainers" you see Victoria Beckham wear, and therefore everyone else on Pinterest wear. I picked up a pair of Adidas at TJ Maxx for $34.99 with silver stripes that were surprisingly comfortable. I put them to the treadmill test and they didn't hurt my bunions at all. I did eventually get some soreness on the sides of my feet, possibly because they're just a rather flat, unsupportive type of shoe. In my fervent need to be environmentally responsible and not settle for a low-quality item of clothing that might wear out quickly, I returned the shoes and ordered the official Adidas Superstars in two sizes online. One was too big, the other too small, and both had the strange attribute of pressing down on the top of my toes, as though they were too narrow top-to-bottom. The fit was nothing like the ones I returned to TJ's, making me think that the TJ's version were not actually made by Adidas, but had simply gained the license to the Adidas name on their (shoddier) product. This is quite common at stores like TJ Maxx, Marshalls, Ross, etc. You think you're getting unsold Calvin Klein from a high-end department store, when in fact Calvin Klein has simply sold the use of their name to an anonymous company to make different products with the Calvin Klein name stamped on. I've experienced this phenomenon when buying jeans: the Calvin Kleins from TJ Maxx fit nothing like the identical item from the Calvin Klein website.

In any case, I soldiered on, deciding to try the oft-mentioned Veja-brand, sustainable, ethical sneakers so many bloggers recommend. Rather expensive at $120 a pair, I finally found my size on the website Need Supply. I ordered two sizes to try, a 39 and a 40 (I'm an 8 or 8.5 in women's) and both were an utter failure. Once again, the larger size was too big and the smaller size too tight. I've returned all 4 pairs of shoes now, using up all kinds of fossil fuels, I'm sure. And I find myself utterly regretting returning that first pair from TJ's. They were by far the best fit, the lowest price, and I had them in my hot little hands for 2 weeks before casting them aside. I was sure that getting a more expensive, authentic pair would ensure better longevity if not an ethical/sustainable purchase. But if the shoes don't fit, they don't do me any good. And so I returned to TJ's in search of those shoes I returned. But alas, they were gone, and I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake. I plan on hitting up a couple of other TJ Maxxes in the area, something I've been known to do in the past. My mom and I are notorious for our "quests" for that 4th pair of curtains from Homegoods or that second pair of black joggers from TJ's. We have been victorious in the past, so there is hope for success here.

In terms of my latest "assignment" from my psychiatrist, there have been several developments. An afternoon class is much harder to find than he made it sound, but maybe when another semester rolls around at RISD I might give it a go. Hitting the library in the afternoon in order to get out of the house is still an option, so on Saturday morning I made a pilgrimage to the Providence Library in downtown Providence. Walking several blocks through pouring rain, I was disappointed to find the library closed. It was State-wide "Library Day" so I never suspected this closing was a possibility, but they were apparently renovating. On State Library Day. So instead I sat at a nearby Starbucks while my husband was at work on a rare morning shift.

We got home around 2 and ate lunch, noticed the weather had cleared up significantly, and decided to embark upon our very first bike ride in the last 2 years. We had an image of an idyllic afternoon coasting down the bike path, ending at a local cafe. Well, we barely made it. We were in pain. Bicycles are deceptively innocuous, but in fact can lead to intense butt pain and burning leg muscles. By the time we completed our return trip, I knew the pain would only get worse over the next day or so. I slept 13 hours that night, and 14 the next. I faithfully kept to my gym/walking schedule, but this whole bike ride thing was a rude awakening to say the least. I thought I was getting into pretty good shape, slowly but surely, but clearly I have a long way to go. For the life of me, I can't explain the bland, contented smiles of my fellow bicyclists. That expression that says, "Isn't this great weather? Let's get outside!" I hate these people. I hate people who want to go eat lunch in the park on nice days, who enjoy street fairs and outdoor concerts and impromptu bike rides. Nothing sends me to bed in a dark room faster than "nice weather." I like rain and being inside and snuggling up in a blanket. Now I do have aspirations of being fit enough to ride my bike as a means of transportation like I did so many years ago. But this leisurely attitude is something I'll just never understand. Is this a symptom of my depression? Perhaps. But I don't see it changing anytime soon.

All these new activities- library, bicycling, classes- have sent my brain into a tailspin. I got in a terrible argument with my husband yesterday and I feel like it was all because of these small changes (or attempts at changes). What little traction I had on my day- exercising, writing at the cafe- was being lost in this new flurry of activity. And so I hit a wall trying to get on the treadmill yesterday. I was dressed and cueing up my YouTube watch list when all of a sudden I heard it as clear as day in my head: No. I can't do it. So I went directly to bed, only stopping to take off my shoes in the process. And for the rest of the day, my brain was on fire. It was screaming at me for not getting enough done and then fighting back with a hard no. I will not move. I will not get up. My husband tried to salvage the day, making suggestions for what we could do instead. I was not having it. I feel like every day I'm trying to salvage my life. And I feel like that's enough.

Today is better. Gym, a few photos, breakfast, cafe. Back to square one at least.

Someone Tried to Take My Boots at Savers

April 13, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Food, Clothes, Mental Illness

I'm feeling pretty chuffed after an incident at Savers the other night. I was there with my mom trying on more men's pants, since wearing the same pair every day has gotten a bit impractical. I tried a bunch of pairs on, and at one point left the dressing room in my socks to put some rejects back on the reject rack. My mom was watching the dressing room to be sure no one took it. But there was a man of somewhat small stature wearing construction-type clothing who walked by just then. According to my mom, he did a double take when he saw my boots lying on the floor of the dressing room and picked one up to inspect it. He seemed very excited to have spotted them, possibly especially because they were his size, but I had to disappoint him and explain that they were the shoes I was wearing. I sensed some mild surprise and maybe even a nod of approval at my choice of footwear. And I felt validated in some way, that wearing practical boots of good quality was something I'd done right. I felt almost admired that as a woman, I'd chosen to belong to the "club" of fellow boot-wearers, and therefore deserved as much respect as a man. My shoes are not frivolous or delicate, so I am not frivolous or delicate. And this sums up my entire attraction to the boots in the first place. I sense some respect from other people when I wear men's construction boots. Just in a small way, but every little bit helps. As I recover from my worst symptoms of bipolar depression and re-enter society, a small thing like that does a lot for my self-esteem.

As far as the pants shopping, I selected two pairs to take home with me. One was $3.99, the other $3.49, and both were 30% off for a grand total of $5.24. The first pair is a beige/khaki colored cotton chino from Old Navy. They're really wide-leg, a rare find these days, and have extra deep side pockets. They're only a waist size 40, not my usual 42, but they're so worn and broken-in that they seem to fit just fine. The edges of the pockets and waist are even a little bit frayed, which gives them the feel of an old favorite right from the start. The second pair are a lightweight grey flannel dress pant with a 40" waist and a 30" inseam which is perfect for bunching up a bit at the ankle over my boots. These seemed brand-new, but after washing and drying them, I've determined that they are a bit too small. I'm afraid I was a little optimistic in trying on size 40 pants, and in this case it went awry. I'll keep them in hopes that they'll fit soon if I continue to lose more weight.

I had my psychiatrist's appointment yesterday and learned that I lost 2 point something pounds, so I'm down to around 198. 2 pounds in a month is difficult to appreciate when I've been so diligent, but I guess I have to take into account the fact that I backed off on my exercise progress this month. I've also moved my food around so that I'm eating 350 calories of cookies and almond milk right before bed, which probably isn't helping things. I have to stick with this routine so my meds work properly without causing akathisia, but I do have notions of delaying my eating in the morning so that I can get back on an intermittent fasting schedule. Maybe intermittent fasting was working after all- I'm just having a hard time waiting to drink my coffee with creamer in the morning. Black coffee is an option, but I'd need some time to get used to it. My husband insists the weight loss has just slowed down because I'm "gaining muscle." I can actually see a distinct tricep emerging from my chubby upper arms, so there may be some truth to that theory as well.

I can say that for the first time since I started dieting and exercising, a full 26 pounds into my weight loss, I can finally see a slight difference in my body when I look in the mirror. I truly think that my mind just couldn't get around seeing myself at a weight higher than this. I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror for so long, and tried to avoid mirrors altogether. But just this week, I feel like I'm starting to recognize myself again, and I don't look absolutely shocking. This unfortunately has not improved my overall mood.

I think that since the profound relief of not having "the bad feeling" (akathisia) at night anymore, things feel like they've returned to normal, which for me is fairly depressed. The depression has seemed even worse lately when I'm alone in the house in the afternoon and can't motivate to start a project. I explained this to my psychiatrist, and he suggested I find a way to get out of the house in the afternoons and have some structure, the way I do in the mornings. (Going to a cafe and doing my exercise in the morning and early afternoon has become something of a routine lately, and I feel best while doing those things.) We talked about me going to the library and reading a book about something I'm interested in trying- like improving my website or taking photos. He also recommended taking a class at an adult education center, or something equally low-key. I had actually applied for community college a while back, but the money and commitment seemed too great at the time (and still does). But there are some great adult learning programs at nearby RISD (Rhode Island School of Design) that I started looking into. I could try something fashion-related that doesn't involve drawing or sewing, two things I'm incredibly bad at. There's also a course on website design "without coding" which sound feasible. Or maybe a basic photography course would be good. The classes are only a few weeks at a time, and if it does give me the structure I'm after, it would be a welcome relief.

My doctor is really good in this way- he focuses on whatever my major complaint is and makes suggestions to resolve it. Now that "the bad feeling" (akathisia) is under control, it feels like a step forward to address these moody afternoons usually spent in bed watching YouTube. He says that if structure and getting out of the house doesn't help my mood, then maybe it's a medication issue we can address. It all feels very sane and methodical- my doctor is incapable of rash judgement- and it gives me a sense of slow and steady progress. I'm genuinely excited to try taking a class. I've always been really good at school and think it could help with my self-esteem as well as my mood. My self image has gotten pretty bad over the years. My inability to get better, combined with my constantly shrinking world, really ate away at any innate sense of worth I once had. But these small things could start to build into something, maybe something new.

Jewelry I Miss and Sentimental Items

April 09, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Minimalism

Multi-strand bone and brown beaded necklace. My mom got this for me one Christmas in college. I was notorious for returning gifts, so it was a rare occurrence that I actually loved something I didn't pick out myself. It was special to have something she picked out for me, and I loved the bohemian, beachy style of the piece.

Sparkly aqua gem dangly earrings. I bought these in Germany on our first trip there. I got them at a department store one day out on my own. They were delicate but colorful, and gave a flattering little sparkle to my face.

Tiny beaded bracelets. My uncle who I rarely see got me these when he came to my senior voice recital. They were white, pink, and maybe a little lavender and gold. Stretchy and simple, and great to stack with other bracelets.

Seahorse necklace. This was a pendant necklace I got at the same vintage shop where I found my combat boots in high school. It was red and green jeweled and had an awesome segmented design so the seahorse was made of several pieces that could undulate freely.

Tassel necklace. Yet another vintage piece from that shop in high school (it was called Bee-bop-a-loo-la), this was a pendant necklace with a chain mail tassel. I loved that it was vintage but definitely edgy.

Computer glasses. These were protective yellow-lens glasses with black frames for blocking blue computer light. I'd wear them around while I was working at the Cape, imagining they looked like real glasses. I don't wear glasses, but sometimes I wish I did.

These items all have sentimental value, something I am known to ignore when decluttering my belongings. I've often offended people with my brutal disregard for sentiment, but I do own a large file drawer of mementos, which I always feel is enough. But looking back at these tiny jewelry items which take up little space, I'm questioning whether I've been too brutal. As a minimalist, I've usually erred on the side of clearing things out. But as someone with a terrible memory in general, I definitely have some regrets from getting rid of sentimental items. Sometimes objects are just more potent, more capable of bringing me back to a time and place, than photos or my constantly failing memory. I don't know why my memory is so bad. Is it all the psychiatric drugs? Or is it my tendency to view anything in the past as negative, so I block things out? As time passes, I reflect on times I've deemed simply awful, and see them in a nostalgic and even positive light. Maybe I need to rethink my attitude towards sentimental items, or at least leave a window of time before getting rid of them. Then again, I rarely, if ever, look through my drawer of sentimental things. But I do like knowing they're there. There are even a couple pieces of jewelry that I've relegated to the sentimental drawer. I no longer wear them, but I hang onto them anyway.

Single heart-shaped silver earring. This is half of a pair of earrings that were given to me by my fifth-grade boyfriend. Need I say more?

Silver-plated triple-band ring. My best friend in sixth grade gave this to me, and it did have quite a renaissance for a while when I lived in New York. I was much thinner then, so it fit. The silver is chipping off, which just adds charm.

Silver chain necklace with turquoise jeweled charms. I got this in high school at Kohl's. It's really unique, made by a faux-vintage brand, and I always got compliments when I wore it. I wore it to a lot of auditions, so I can't bear to look at it as of late, so it went into the drawer.

I think a big part of the reason I don't look through my sentimental items is that I always imagined myself as being much more successful at this point in my life. The idea was that I'd be rich and famous when I finally went through the drawer to reminisce about when I was young and a nobody. But still being a nobody, it just doesn't seem like it's time yet. I keep thinking, I'm almost there, just a few more years of paying my dues and then I'll be on top. But that time never came, and I'm trying my best to let go of that fantasy. Twenty years is a long time to keep paying dues with very little return. I recently asked my husband, "Do you think I'll ever sing again?" "Of course," he answered without missing a beat. But I don't know. In one of my unmedicated rages last summer, I literally tore through all my scores, every binder of opera arias and roles, carefully organized on a shelf in the living room. I ripped them apart, binder and all, with my bare hands while my husband and mother contemplated taking me to the hospital. But I haven't looked back. I haven't let myself regret that fit of rage and despair. I earned it with uncounted hours of practice and devotion and performing 8 shows a week for not enough pay. It was justified. And I need some time to pass before I can even consider returning to it. I need time to recover.

To see my current jewelry collection, click here.

I'm Too Old for iPhoto and Too Fat for Dressing Rooms

April 07, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Food, Clothes

I'm feeling defeated. Not by depression or anxiety or any of the usual culprits. I'm feeling defeated by seemingly simple technology. I've wanted to add photos to my posts ever since the beginning, but I felt too overwhelmed by the features on my new iPhone X to even get started. When I was selling a lot of clothes on Ebay, my husband took all the photos on a DSLR camera we got secondhand. I'd sit at the laptop, telling him when a color or angle needed to be adjusted, and he'd do whatever was necessary to make it happen. At some point more recently, I watched a YouTube video on how to make YouTube videos (I know, it gets kind of meta here), and even took notes. I thought I understood things like F-stop and exposure. But these lessons were just about immediately forgotten. I watched another video on how to use the camera app on an iPhone X. I went through all the different features, taking panoramic shots and making things sepia-toned, but once again, I immediately forgot everything I'd done. I've had longtime aspirations to make YouTube videos about capsule wardrobes or minimalism, but again, I find the technical side of things completely overwhelming. And seeing "the kids" these days casually editing their instagram photos really doesn't make me feel any better about it. I try to keep in mind that kids from this generation have been doing these tricks on their phones, editing videos and putting panda ears on people, ever since they could text with two thumbs (another skill I'll apparently never master). Social media has never interested me since I prefer a more hermit-like existence and getting updates on other people's lives just makes me feel bad. But this photo and video stuff that seems to need no explanation for much of the population is really difficult for me. I dream of being one of those Youtuber/bloggers who edit videos in their pajamas while drinking green smoothies. I've got the pajamas and the smoothies down; it's the technology that's holding me back. I mean, when I was growing up we didn't have cellphones. We didn't even have a mouse when typing on a computer. Printers had paper with holes running down the edges, and I was in my twenties and still using dial-up for the internet (if you don't know what that is, it results in your computer loading websites at a glacial pace, and god-forbid there's a photo to load). So I've decided to cut myself some slack in this department and get help. My husband has graciously agreed to teach me what I need to know in order to at least post some photos of clothing items on my blog. We did a photo shoot where he took the pictures of my capsule wardrobe and he edited them, but now I'm learning to actually photograph and edit things on my own. Patience is key, for both of us. Breaking things down into tiny steps is also key. After just the first lesson, I was reduced to tears, feeling incredibly stupid and old. There were some aborted attempts at taking video a couple of months ago, but I was reduced to tears, not only feeling stupid, but feeling fat and hideous. Seeing myself, my actual physical size and features, not as a passing glance in a mirror, but from all angles and in motion, horrified me. That was at my heaviest, so somewhere around 224 lbs, but I just had no room in my head for what that actually looked like on my body. A certain amount of denial when it comes to my appearance was, I think, necessary to keep from panicking every time I passed a mirror. But the shock of the video image was too real to deny. The only other time I've felt this shock and horror was in the dressing room at Marshall's. I was buying a pair of skinny jeans (size 18W) and a dark green sweater (size 3X) when the reality of my physical situation came into view. There's something about those tiny dressing rooms, the mirrors that are a little too close. Something about bringing more than one size in with you and then immediately realizing the bigger one is the only possible option. I know many women struggle with body dysmorphia, thinking they are bigger than they are. But I seem to have the opposite, as some form of self-preservation. That's why it seems to me like I haven't lost a pound, despite the 20 lb deficit. I thought I was already there. Already here. But progress with anything is slow, and the big picture, so to speak, doesn't come into focus for a while. So I'll keep plodding forward with my iPhoto and my weight loss, trying to keep my chin up.

Power Dressing and Exercise Updates

April 06, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Mental Illness, Food, Clothes

I know you're in suspense about which boots I decided on, so I'll get that out of the way first: I went with the brown logger boots. My concerns that they might look too feminine were unfounded, I discovered, when I saw the photo my husband took of me in them. I was wearing them with my men's pants, trying to decide whether to wear them out, and from the photo it became clear to me that they do not look in any way traditionally feminine. The heel is more subtle than I imagined, and so I've finally started wearing them (gasp!) outside. They feel great, comfort-wise, and I feel great in them, more myself. I keep commenting that I just feel normal. I feel like they ground me, the weight of them, and in the way they balance out my body shape a bit. I feel like less of a tomato on a stick. OK, not a great body image to admit to, but it's accurate as to how I've been seeing myself lately. Another thing the boots give me is a subtle sense of power, like they're armor of a sort. And it dawned on me how rarely, as a woman, I shop for clothes that look powerful. I'd say my usual MO would be looking for clothes that a) make me appear thinner or smaller than I am b) look "cute" c) are "flattering" (refer back to a). I think it's good progress for me to abandon these motives and go for something empowering instead. It seems like when traditionally feminine clothing is deemed "powerful," as in a "power suit" or some great high heels, the power comes from sex appeal, especially in reference to men. This ultimately does not seem like real power to me. If objectifying yourself is your only way of feeling powerful, I think there's something wrong there. But maybe there's something more that I'm missing- maybe a power suit feels like armor going into a business meeting, or high heels make you feel taller and in that you feel power. I just personally don't get those things from those clothes- I get them from menswear.

In other news, I am pleased to report relief from "the bad feeling" at night, something that was ruling my entire day for months. "The bad feeling" has been correctly identified as akathisia from the initial surge of medication when I take my Latuda, an atypical antipsychotic. I have had to abandon intermittent fasting altogether, since the solution is to take the Latuda right before bed, and you have to eat 350 calories with it in order for it to work. The idea with taking it so late is that I sleep right through any potential akathisia. The other part of the solution was to lower the dose. I tried 40mg instead of 80mg, but that started affecting my mood. 60mg with dinner was definitely an improvement over 80, but I still started to get that feeling creeping up on me as the evening progressed, hence the late night dosing. It's not perfect, but this late-night snack thing is doing the trick so far.

With all the stress of experimenting with the meds, I've been losing my motivation to exercise. And with all the changes to my eating schedule, I've been having urges to binge, or at least eat outside my caloric limits. So I've had to back off in both departments, become less aggressive in trying to lose weight, and find some patience to go slower. I've allowed myself up to 2,000 calories on some days, though now it's leveled out to about 1,800 including my late-night cookies and milk. In terms of exercise, I've backed off on my intermittent running/walking and just gone back to walking at an incline of 2. On gym days, I'm only lifting weights, eliminating the 10-minute round of 6-incline walking altogether. This has made working out feel way less overwhelming and I feel less in danger of quitting outright. I'm convinced that I need to just keep doing something every day, and if I can just keep it going, motivation will strike again and I can start building my workouts up again. Going to the gym and just doing 3-4 machines feels pretty pointless, but I'm able to do it, and that's what really counts here. I do also have to credit myself for those 4 hours on the treadmill trying out boots (that was in addition to my regular exercise). I was walking really slowly (2.2 speed), but it does add up to something. And I've been leaving the house almost every day, so there's a bit more activity in just doing that. I tend to get ahead of myself, always wishing I could do more, accomplish more. But I need to appreciate how far I've come. I'm reading books instead of just watching YouTube. I'm going to the cafe to read or write. I'm shopping for clothes and making decisions. And I'm still on track with food, meds, and exercise. That'll have to be enough for now.

Shopping for Construction Boots and Dickies

April 03, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

I'm caught in the in-betweens. I've psychologically shifted my sense of style, but physically my wardrobe isn't there yet. It takes time to find just the right pieces, especially when you're thrifting. And if you're buying new pieces, the financial pressure is on not to fuck it up. I recently bought 4 thrifted items: the oft-mentioned men's pants, a green corduroy button-down, a blue T-shirt, and a burgundy shawl-style cardigan. I've been wearing these items in constant rotation, but the pants are problematic without appropriate footwear- and a belt. So I went to one of those horrible stores where they sell men's workwear (like construction work, not office work) and picked out a pair of "logger boots." They have a slight heel, which apparently all logger boots do, but they are in fact men's, size 7.5. They're a beautiful mid-brown leather with black soles and they lace up above the ankle- they’re referred to as an 8” high boot, and the brand is Carolina. I've put the boots through a rigorous testing process: I walked on our treadmill in the boots for an hour- twice. They passed with flying colors- no blisters or bunion pain- but I've been having some hesitation about committing to them and wearing them outside. My hesitation is the heel. Are they too feminine? Could they be mistaken for women's boots? If so, this would really bother me. The whole idea with this style shift is to really adopt a more masculine look, especially in terms of pants and boots, and to escape the traditionally feminine aesthetic. To escape the arbitrary sizing and cheap fabrics and infantilizing nature of so much women's clothing. But I do really love the boots. So I'm torn. All this indecision has been stalling my personal style transition. So today I took the bull by the horns and went back to "Bob's Stores" and found another option. They of course need to go through the rigorous testing process, but they are a more traditional men's flat work boot. They're the classic 6" high Timberland Pro work boot in all black leather. I also picked out a black leather belt (I returned the faux leather brown one to Marshall's) and returned a pair of "Dickies" men's work/uniform pants. I had picked them up at Bob’s when I got the logger boots, but I decided the poly-blend fabric was a little too sweaty for my liking. So the boot decision is still in process, but I do have a belt to wear with the pants I thrifted. I'll just wear them with my knee-high Sorel boots like I have been. This whole process is making me very impatient- like I'm actually feeling embarrassed to wear my skinny jeans and women's ankle boots. I feel like I look middle-aged and of little consequence. But these new boots are not cheap- about $135 a pair- and while neither belt was very expensive, I couldn't bear to take the tags off of the faux leather one because I don't want to settle. Buying new things- probably made in sweatshops, because apparently everything is- is already questionable behavior in my mind. So holding out for just the right item seems like the least I can do when I can't find something at the thrift store. Now I was pleasantly surprised to note that some Carolina brand items are actually "Made in USA," a fact that is causing this "Bob's Store" to grow on me. I'm sure union factory workers who shop for these types of clothes would prefer to buy items "Made in USA" based on principle, and the store’s stock may reflect that. (Looking into Timberland's labor ethics reveals that they also offer some “Made in USA” products, and that they do report a decent rating on their factories from a 3rd party- not that that necessarily means anything). But the other reason Bob's is growing on me is that I don't feel bad about myself when trying to find my size there. With the belt, I simply looked at the tags to find the correct measurement (42") for my mid-hip area where I wear my pants. No judgement or inherent comparison, just a measurement. I'm sure plenty of men bigger than me shop there and are able to find their size. And trying on boots, I actually found pairs that were too small for me- apparently smaller men can shop there, too. And there was never any intimidation factor ("Um, little lady, I think you're in the wrong department"). Nothing like that. I love how utilitarian the whole place is. Now I like looking at pretty things just as much as the next woman, but it's refreshing to shop without trying to fit into a smaller size or wondering if a pair of boots will last more than one wear. Because, did I even mention, the QUALITY of men's clothes? For the same (or lower) prices we women pay for basics, men are getting something that will withstand years of wear while we are getting frilly tops that fall apart the first time through the wash. All the more reason for me to consider menswear. The clothes have great structural integrity. And whether or not it’s true, I think I look like I have more integrity when I wear them.

Book Review: Women In Clothes

March 28, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

Let me just start off by saying that this is the best book on clothing or style that I've ever read. And I've basically exhausted the collection at my local library: The Cool Factor; Change Your Clothes, Change Your Life; The Curated Closet; How To Get Dressed; Lessons From Madame Chic; Stacy London's book; Victoria Beckham's book; Nina Garcia's book The One Hundred; Trinny and Susannah's book; What to Wear For the Rest of Your Life; Lauren Conrad's book; Cupcakes and Cashmere; basically anything they had on the shelf. The advice given in most of these books is on how to build a wardrobe, what classic pieces you must have, how to style your clothes, dressing for your body type, etc. And a lot of them are really dated, obviously, because fashion changes fast. Especially the ones with pictures- those can be laughably dated. But most of them just have pictures of women in high heels with like, a blazer and jeans on. Or some corporate-appropriate skirt and blouse with "statement jewelry." And they always recommend buying a good trench coat or wearing kitten heels if you don't like wearing high heels. It's basically magazine advice. Not to say that they're all bad- I love The Curated Closet for finding your style, as well as Change Your Clothes, Change Your Life for motivation. And Vic-Beck's book is a fun read. But Women In Clothes is a totally different kind of book. Rather than focusing on the how-to of dressing better, it explores women's relationships with clothes and dressing. There are pictures, but only as part of artistic projects. Most of the book is just words about the experience of living with clothes. The book all started with a survey for 639 women to fill out, and parts of each survey are touched on in interviews or more organic conversations. Some are grouped as anecdotes by subject, and some are first-person stories about a particular clothing-related event or experience. And the result is absolutely fascinating. Because there is so much more to talk about concerning clothes than simply rattling off a list of must-have pieces. The details of each woman's approach to dressing are highly individual and come from a vast range of influences. There are formative experiences, personal fashion evolutions, assumptions and rejections of assumptions, and different perspectives on being female and getting dressed. There are images of collections of clothing, explorations of women's mothers' styles, even quirky detailed accounts of online shopping/stalking. And I feel the aim of this book is right in line with the aim of this blog when it comes to clothes. I like talking about the meaning of clothes and describing clothing in my own words, as well speaking to my own style evolution. And my recent Men's Pants Epiphany post feels less crazy when I find other women have had an experience that resonates with mine:

"Giving up femininity is a relief. It makes me less eager to please. By not dressing in a traditionally feminine way, I have been able to stop making everything better for everyone else. To give myself the entitlement of a man, I have had to look like a man. I don't feel the need to live as a man, or dress like one all the time, but I like being able to play with it. And yes, it does feel dirty, like I'm getting away with something that other people can't. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone, but it has worked for me."

To hear from women who dress in a less traditional way, or who specifically have felt that sense of entitlement I get from wearing men's clothes, makes me feel less alone, like less of a weirdo. Because for me, it makes perfect sense:

"It's wonderful to be a woman if you are young, thin, and pleasing to men. Otherwise there's not so much that's wonderful about it."

This sentiment rings true for me in the sense that it's not wonderful to be objectified, to be harassed at work, to be sexually assaulted. It's not wonderful to have your ideas dismissed, to be rated on a scale of 1-10 by men, to be afraid to walk alone at night. So of course it makes sense for me to quite literally, walk in the shoes of a man. To "wear the pants" so to speak. In men's clothes I feel more respected, more protected, and taken more seriously. And I don't necessarily feel any less feminine- if anything, I feel more attractive as a woman, more myself in men's clothes. Because I'm more empowered, more in control of myself than when I wear plus-size skinny jeans and lightweight little ankle boots. I bought a pair of men's work boots the other day and have been "auditioning" them on the treadmill to make sure they're a perfect fit. The weight of them, the integrity, the structure of them feels right. They make me feel like more of a person. And that's what I think clothes should do for everyone- let you feel the way you want to feel. How refreshing to read a book about how different women do that.

Women In Clothes is written by Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits, Leanne Shapton, and 639 Others.

DIY Projects That Actually Worked Sort Of

March 20, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

So I hemmed my men's pants. Despite explicit and repeated measuring, one leg is in fact longer than the other. Also, they're too long. I'm stepping on the back hems in my knee-high wedge boots, the only shoes that make any sense with the pants. I'm obviously wearing the pants over the top of the boots so all you see is the leather foot and part of the wedge. I wore them like this about twice before the waistband stretched out and the pants became too big. They have this weird inner corset system of elastic for some kind of "comfort fit" that apparently men are into. But it got stretched out and now they fall down. I tried wearing them with my skinny braided “leather" belt from Old Navy with them, but it feels so dinky and inadequate with the substantial waistband of the pants. So last night I went back to Savers to try and find pants that fit me better in the waist, but they were all too big or too small or too ugly. So then I caved and went next door to Marshalls and got a men's faux leather Columbia wide brown belt with a big buckle (there was nothing that fit at Savers). It cost $12.99 and is a size XL in men's belts, whatever that means. I thought I'd look at their pants, too, but they only go up to a size 38 waist at Marshall's. I'm looking for either a stretchy size 40 or a non-stretch 42. This made me feel like some sort of freakish whale of a human. I flinched every time I caught sight of myself in a mirror. Surely I can't be this big! I've lost weight after all! But there it is. This morning I tried the belt on with the pants and it didn't thrill me. I put on my women's skinny jeans instead with the black flat ankle boots. These pants are also too big, but we are where we are. In other news, I've embarked on a couple of other DIY projects, slightly more successful than the pants-hemming. I bleached my thrifted blue Hanes T-shirt and it's exactly the color I hoped it would be. My first attempt had no impact whatsoever- note to self: not enough bleach. The second attempt involved a lot more bleach, along with some soaking in the wash before turning it on. When I pulled it out, I was very concerned by what appeared to be blotchiness and uneven coloring. But after a tumble-dry it came out just perfect. This little project definitely made me feel like I was getting away with something. This lighter shade of blue is almost aqua and resembles a long-sleeve tee I had many years ago and still miss today. Whenever I wore it I got complements on what a good color it was for me and I've kept that color in mind ever since. After such a successful DIY project, I felt emboldened to try something else. I talk a lot about my obsession with blouson-style tops, the type with a band or some elastic at the hem so the top "blouses" out from the mid-hip. While I've never come across this style as a recommended look for "apple shaped" bodies with narrow hips, trust me- it's a game-changer. Any-hoo, I took my destroyed white T-shirt (see White T-shirt Disaster and Deodorant Safety) and very carefully cut open the bottom hem at the inside of the side seam. Using a safety pin as shuttle, I threaded some thin elastic from the sewing store all the way around through the existing hem. I tied it off and bingo! Blouson top. The only problem was, this particular T-shirt wasn't big enough to "blouse" out or anywhere at all. It looked OK in front, but tight across the back, emphasizing my fat rolls. So I pulled the elastic out and repeated the process on a different T-shirt: one of these LOFT ones with a high-low hem and a swing shape. With more fabric to work with it worked much better and while it's a little short in front, I am currently wearing it in public, so, decent success there. I'm not usually one to DIY clothes- in fact, I've made a rule to never buy anything with the intention of sewing it to fix it. But since these items were thrifted or on their way out the door, there was less financial risk involved and so I went for it. There's something so pleasing about wearing an item of clothing that's been customized to your wants and needs. Like with the blouson top, it can bring an item back from the donate pile (I had decided I hated those high-low hems and pushed the T-shirts into storage), or just give it that little extra tweak that makes you love it even more. My pants situation still needs to be addressed (I'm not sure whether to bother re-hemming them and wear the belt or whether to just keep looking for a better-fitting pair), the belt may need to be returned, and I really need some boots or shoes that really work with men's pants (I ended up returning the Adidas sneakers, so out of luck there, too). Next step: giant Zappos order to try different brands and sizes (free shipping both ways) and more pants-thrifting. The process continues.

My Wardrobe is Imploding

March 16, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Mental Illness

Since the pants epiphany and the purchase of three thrifted items (a draped sweater, a corduroy shirt, and a t-shirt), I am suddenly at a loss as to what’s happened to my capsule wardrobe. The first issue I see is that I saw my current weight as quick and temporary. I thought the weight would fall off as soon as I changed my medication, and that has not been the case. Thus, my thrown-together utilitarian capsule wardrobe was certainly not an expression of my soul. Looking at it now, I bemoan the cheap jeggings from Marshall’s. “I’m not a typical suburban housewife,” I scream in my head. “I’m cooler than this.” I really did used to be cool, confident, unusual. But all those years of trying to fit myself into the image of a musical theater bimbo or a stuffy-sexy opera singer ate away at my fashion identity. I started thinking in terms of “appropriateness” or sex appeal. Now I pretty much failed at all that anyway. I was once asked at a theater audition how I possibly could have been in a show on my resume— “were you a child?” they asked. I looked down at my white dance tights and my dress with the bow on the back and turned bright red. And then, years later, in opera auditions I was asked not once, but twice! — when I was due. What I thought were flattering empire-waist dresses were apparently reading as maternity frocks to the middle-aged men I was singing for. When I finally came to a point where I decided I was only wearing pants for auditions, I tore through my wardrobe, discarding dress after dress, all bought in hopes that “this will be the one” that will get me respect, get me taken seriously, and not prompt the pregnancy question. It was a relief to get rid of those demoralizing costumes. And it led to a later revelation that I abhor wearing dresses. They never look right on me, and often make me look like a giant baby. What I’m getting at is that I feel like I am going through yet another wardrobe crisis. The joggers I wear suddenly look like old sweatpants, and my shoes look teeny-tiny and all out of balance with the rest of my body. Even the basic crew-neck tees from ASOS look like boxy men’s shirts—something I’ve always found unflattering and avoided. I like loose-fitting, scoop-neck tops that show off my clavicles. Basically, my clothes look like they’re for someone who’s given up, who wears dark colors because they’re slimming, who sees themselves as nothing special. And that’s pretty spot-on for me as of late. Being debilitatingly depressed and cycling through nightmares of medications and symptoms makes you feel like giving up. It makes you feel like you’re nothing special because you can’t work, you can barely function, and look at all those not-so-special people out there working and functioning without a problem. And all this weight gain has made me want to be smaller, look slimmer, not get in anyone’s way. This weight gain seems impolite - “oh, I’m so sorry I’m so disgusting and that you have to look at me, so I just won’t leave the house.” I’ve been wanting to literally shrivel up and die. Not wanting my family to have to get a crane to get my dead body out of the house, I think I should lose some weight before I call it quits. It’s no wonder I hate my clothes. I’ve been hating myself for years now, and didn’t think I deserved anything better. But since the men’s pants—since that day in the dressing room, I’ve started to remember who I was, who I really am. It seems wasteful to revamp my wardrobe when I’m in the process of losing weight. But I’m fighting for my life here, and if some old men’s pants from the thrift store make me feel like I have a soul after all, then I’m damn well going to buy them. If the bright green shirt and the pale blue t-shirt and the burgundy sweater put a little life into me, then they’re worth buying, too. I want to be responsible, environmentally speaking, but first and foremost, I have to survive. And in some strange way, these new-to-me clothes are helping. I’m literally seeing myself differently. I’m taking my true identity into account when I dress myself for the day. And just as importantly, I’m getting dressed for the day. Things are looking up.

Clothes I Miss 3

March 10, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

1990s_Liz College_0010 (1) Even Smaller.jpg

"Babushka." This was a cheap navy scarf that I would wrap over my head and then around my neck in the cold Philly winter. I don't know what my resistance was to a hat, but I just got used to wearing this. People commented on it, like not in a good way.

Grey-green linen wide leg pants. Got these from some roommate or other. They were a great color, beautiful cut and fabric. Too long, so I had to wear heels though.

Silver halter-neck gathered pleated top. This was basically just a big square of fabric with a tie through the top to make a neckline and an elastic through the bottom to make a blouson-style hem. Worn with the linen pants and wedges to a nightclub. Didn't fit in, but felt awesome. Saw my friend Isabel sing, also awesome.

Brown high-necked zip-up sweater. This was a cardigan that zipped all the way up over your nose if you so chose. I got it in Cape Cod when I was trying to assimilate to the mainstream, but it ended up a favorite all the same. I wore it in my last headshots which my friend Richie took for me. I had a cold sore at the time, but he photoshopped it out.

Green J. Crew tissue tee. My favorite of the four tissue tees I owned, this color was gorgeous on my skin tone. Also worn in my headshots, with the brown sweater. Lasted about 15 years, those tissue tees.

Black stretch camisole. Loved this little top when I was at my thinnest. It was snug, but not too tight. I wore it in some creepy headshots that a creepy agent set up for me. I still have the photos, and they're still creepy.

Chunk of metal on sash. This was literally scrap metal that I found in Philly on the ground and strung onto some kind of fabric sash. It was for a self-produced performance at an event dubbed "Ladyfest." I sang and danced to my own music, karaoke style.

Hand-altered nightgown dress with raw hems. Thrifted old nightgown that I ripped apart and overlapped and made a dress out of for another self-produced performance. I remember ironing it and hand-stitching it and really loving that.

Flowered black flared dress with wide collar. Fit me like a dream, a rare thing for me in 7th grade. I wore it to my best friend's Bat Mitzvah. There are photos of me dancing the electric slide in it, obviously thinking I was really cool.

White scalloped-neck flared belted dress. This was my middle school "Dinner-Dance" dress that I got at Ann & Hope, a department store that now only sells curtains and gardening equipment. Surprisingly sophisticated for 8th grade.

Blue chiffon bow-front blouse. This was a semi-sheer, Peter Pan collar short-sleeve blouse that I felt very “soignee” in when I was at my thinnest. I wore it to one of my 4 auditions for Candide, where I sang Glitter and Be Gay and squeaked out Eb super high notes. I got into the chorus.

Black dragon T-shirt. This was a black T-shirt with a yellow drawing of a dragon on it. My then-boyfriend gave it to me, which was significant because he was very into martial arts.

Black lace string-bikini underwear. I somehow managed to acquire these in High School when I wasn't having any sex but doing a lot of making out with my boyfriend from drama club.

Purple cut-off leotard cut in half into a bikini. This was an 80s leotard with the ruching at the center of the bust that I cut into a bikini. I wore it to Cape May, NJ with my friend Kate. We lasted about an hour at the beach before calling it quits and going to the movies. We saw Eyes Wide Shut. Very weird.

Two black Calvin Klein pajama shirts with wide scoop necklines. I got these at Lord and Taylor in the lingerie department in college. I wore them until the wheels came off. So flattering, loose but showed off my collarbones.

Olive green Vera Wang top with oversized sequin placket. This was from Kohl's, but I can't believe how good it was. It was sturdy cotton and kind of flared out slightly so it covered my belly but didn't make me look pregnant. It was really unique with it's random silver and black and gold sequins in various sizes down the center of the front. It also had an exposed zipper in back.

Black woven cotton empire style cami top. This was another flattering but non-pregnant-looking top that was sort of fitted on top with adjustable cami straps, then flared out from below the bust. The stiff woven cotton made it kind of substantial yet summery. I wore it to an audition with a multi-strand beaded necklace. I got the job.

Have I been rash? Are these things I should have kept? Am I constantly trying to erase my past? Is this a good thing? Or have I squandered my beloved clothes?

For more Clothes I Miss, click here or here.

ALL OF MY SHOES ARE WRONG.

March 08, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

So I bought a pair of men’s pants, washed them, and I'm in love. Now they definitely need to be hemmed, and I can definitely do that. I have my trusty sewing machine that I got at Walmart for $60 and it works great. My husband and I even made lined, floor-length curtains for our bedroom with this little machine. I’m not a great seamstress, as in squares and hems are my entire repertoire. But the pants, no problem. But I soon realized something— I have no idea how long the legs should be . And that is because ALL OF MY SHOES ARE WRONG. As you might remember, I own 11 pairs of shoes. And yet, there is not a single pair that will work with men’s pants. When I used to wear them, I always had combat boots or else men’s steel-toe construction boots to wear with them. Once, I had an all-black leather pair, and then the classic Timberland sueded tan leather style. The way the long pants broke at the top of the boot was absolutely essential to the look. And I have nothing like them in my current wardrobe. Let’s take inventory: five pairs of heels which I never wear. A couple of pairs might work, but that’d be for dressing up only. Next: Superga slip-ons. These might be ok, but if they’re long enough for the “break,” they’d just get stepped on in the back. My tall Sorel boots have a wedge heel, and with the pants going over the boot, it just doesn’t have the look I’m going for. Tuck them into the boot and what’s the point? The same goes for my snow boots. My ankle boots are completely flat, so no break, plus the stepping on the back hem. And my brown hobbit shoes are just all wrong in their very existence, never mind their status as part of my shoe collection. The main problem with all of my shoes seems to be that they’re not heavy enough, not substantial enough, not grounded enough. Part of the look of the men’s pants for me is a substantial, thick-soled work boot to go with them. I suppose another option would be the white Adidas thick-soled sneakers that I bought the other day. But I’ve tested them out on the treadmill twice now, and have gotten cramps in the sides of my feet walking at a speed of 3.0 and an incline of 4 for 20 minutes. I’m pleasantly surprised that they don’t hurt my bunions at all, so I am tempted to keep them. But the fact that they’re not leather is another hesitation that I have. I worry that they won’t have the longevity of a leather pair. In the past, I might have said, “well, for $34.99, it’s fine,” but I am consciously trying to change this mentality. Investing more in a pair that lasts much longer is more environmentally agreeable, and leather has the added bonus of stretching and conforming to your foot. (On a side note, veganism is clearly not for me.) But the fit of the Adidas shoes is surprisingly good, so I think I’ll investigate their real-leather options. I wonder what kind of results I’d get giving my other shoes the intensive treadmill test. Am I setting the bar too high for comfort? I imagine walking miles around Berlin in these shoes (my husband is scouting the city this week with an eye on us staying there for a month— he’s walking pretty far every day). I think I’ll hold out for leather. A pair of sneakers that you can’t walk a mile in without pain seems pretty silly. Yet they are fashion shoes, not running shoes. I could definitely rationalize the purchase.

But I’ve digressed far enough. While thick-soled white sneakers could definitely work with men’s pants, they are still not as ideal as a pair of work boots. And when I owned work boots, I wore them completely out. There was also a random pair of Victoria’s Secret (of all places) chunky-heeled lace up boots in brown leather that I wore to death. I remember saying, as I got rid of them, “I’ll get another pair like this,” but I never did. I think it’s high time I did. As for the rest of my shoes, they are all on parole. My whole wardrobe is being called into question since the pants epiphany, and I’m not quite sure where this will all go.

Clothes I Miss 2

March 07, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

Pale pink paisley printed tunic silky top. This was such a beautiful fabric, and it was a great length for wearing with a low-slung belt. I wore it to opening night for the show where I met my husband.

Wide black woven belt. Went great with the above tunic. Black canvas with a leather and chrome double buckle. Creates kind of a blouson effect which is my most flattering look.

Old Navy cowboy button downs in green and brown. Snagged these from the sale rack but soon became an absolute favorite. They had a cowboy-style yoke and a tiny white floral print.

Black Gap short trench coat. This was a cropped "trench" with a tie-waist that I wore to bits. Had to say goodbye when my weight soared to new heights.

Black Gap wrap sweatshirt. This was a unique sweatshirt with no hood and a tie-waist belt. I felt so comforted wrapping it around myself, often over one of the cowboy shirts.

White lace TJ Maxx $7 bras. I was loyal to these bras for many years. They were underwire but looked like amazing vintage lingerie. The brand name is Renee Rofe but have only ever found them at TJ's or Marshalls.

Maroon bomber-style leather jacket. Thrifted, of course, this classic was worn a lot when I was riding my bike around Philadelphia. Had some sweet piping on the shoulders.

Cut-off cropped Banana Republic stretchy trousers. Also worn on my bicycle a lot because they wouldn't get stuck in the gear. These were originally semi-conservative pants for college when I was really working the whole "opera singer" vibe. Liberating to cut them off and get them dirty with bicycle grease.

Peach cotton tank top. I feel like this was either thrifted or from an Army Navy shop. It was kind of "overdyed" with thick seams. There's a picture of me wearing it to a rehearsal for my very first theater job.

White cotton spaghetti strap undershirt with lacy straps. This looked like a little girl's undershirt. I think I had it in black too. I wore this with some vintage jeans to go get my boyfriend a slice of pizza on South Street in Philly. I was cat called.

Turquoise kimono-style Forever 21 Plus top. I got this in Portland when I was riding a bicycle around town and trying to maintain my singing practice in our hotel room. It was the first time I saw plus sizes at Forever 21. They're sized too small. They should just call them “adult clothes.”

Bobeau black and cream print textured one-button cardigan. I got this when I was looking for clothes for my last job as an administrative assistant at Brown University. I think I only got rid of it because it reminded me of how I only lasted 2 months before my uncontrollable crying forced me to quit. I've been on disability ever since.

Vintage pale blue cotton swing dress. Wore this once to a party with my then-boyfriend and his friends. One of them asked me if I was pregnant and I never wore it again. It was really a great dress.

Gap two-tone blouson-top dresses in navy-on-navy and black-on-grey. These were so flattering and chic. I might have worn them temping a bit, but I really hoped to wear them as opera audition dresses. I outgrew them, size-wise, before I could.

Floral sheer-overlay ivory maxi dress with ribbon ties all the way down the front. This was the most expensive thing I'd ever owned; I can't believe my mom bought it for me. I wore it to the prom, possibly with fake Birkenstocks.

Black handmade corset style top with floral lace trim. A costume designer made this for me, trying to make a real boned corset that wasn't so tight I couldn't sing in it. It was for my senior recital. I wore it with a black ball-gown style skirt that I'd gotten on sale at some earlier date for no good reason. I donated this to Housing Works in NYC when I was trying to let go of my past and move forward with a theater career. Dumb.

Black cotton deep V-neck dress. This was a substantial heavy-weight cotton dress with an A-line skirt. It came to just below my knee. I wore it with high-heeled ankle boots to sing a concert version of a show I did.

Pale blue blouson top with 3/4 sleeves. Again with the blouson. Color was great on me too.

Joie silk medallion print cami top. I sold this because it never fit right on my chest. I bought it when I was getting a whole new wardrobe because I had lost so much weight on Adderall. Double-lined, really nice, found on Ebay.

Heather grey Vince cashmere asymmetrical ruffle sweater. I still own one in black which I wore a lot when it still fit. The grey one didn't really get any wear, so I sold it. I bought them at Salvation Army for $5.99 each.

Tweed and fake fur winter hat with ear flaps. This was probably the one item during my time in New York where I wore something and just did not give a fuck what anyone thought of it. Super warm too.

Grey taffeta dress with black studded belt. Possible my only Zara purchase ever, This was a strapless fit-and-flare style with this punk-rock belt that seemed perfect for singing in. I think I only ever wore it to one or two auditions.

Banana Republic ribbed tanks. One in white, one in navy, often layered together. These were really good quality and I think I got them on clearance. One time I wore them with cargo pants and a boy said I was pretty. Is it sad that I remember that?

Maroon drawstring-waist old school sweatpants. The infamous sweats I wore to a voice lesson in college and got reprimanded by my conservative Korean teacher. Soft, really straight through the hips, not too much stretch.

White cami-strap leotard. I grew up dancing and danced through college but abandoned it in my mid 20s. At age 30 I got back into it for musical theater auditions and I got this bright white leotard. I felt beautiful in it.

Pink leg warmers. Wore these in New York to auditions and class. Pulled them up to my knees, then slouched over the top of my character shoes. Thought I looked awesome, but I have a feeling the kids didn't share my feeling.

Black cotton jersey blouson top. I know, I know. Never get rid of blouson tops. They are gold for me, and hard to find. But this one had puff sleeves, and I came down hard against them when I cleared out all my dresses, bows, ruffles, and puff sleeves a couple years ago.

I actually teared up making this list. I feel like I've given away parts of myself- bolder, tougher, more independent parts. Brave parts. These are things I can never get back.

For more Clothes I Miss, click here or here.

The Men's Pants Epiphany

March 06, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Mental Illness

I went thrifting again. This time at Salvation Army. This time in the men's section. I tried a few sweaters, but the one I liked had a smell that I suspect was permanent. And then I tried a few pairs of men's trousers. I was standing there in the god-awful plywood changing room full of dust bunnies, and that's when it clicked: this is who I am. This is the person I used to be. Full of confidence, conviction, idealism. The person who didn't care what anyone thought. I realized that this decade-long saga with my weight, this tangent I've been on into the world of superficiality and blind convention has been just that: a tangent from the truth of who I am.

Let me explain: I'll start at the beginning. I was in 8th grade, getting dressed for I don't know what, when I went into my older brother's room, grabbed a pair of jeans and a leather jacket, and put them on. I felt a thrill wearing those clothes. I can't describe it any other way- it was the thrill of getting away with something. I was no longer subject to the acid-washed Jordache jeans with the zippers at the ankles. I was no longer a slightly disappointing size 7 at age 13. I was a person. The symbolism here is not lost on me: as women, we are viewed as objects, decoration. As men, we are viewed as people, with thoughts and interests and ideas. I was stepping into men's clothes, and into a sense of myself as a real person. It was at that point that I stopped shopping in the junior's department and started wearing vintage or thrifted clothes exclusively. The most significant purchase was a pair of too-big vintage combat boots that I wore all through high school. This led to wearing men's pajamas as clothes, and a huge oversized ankle-length army topcoat with epaulets and gold buttons. My best friend Liz and I would scour the local Savers for the best-fitting men's trousers and corduroys and jeans. We gave little thought to what size they were, judging them simply on fit and our own personal aesthetic. The summer between high school and college, I worked in the back room of Salvation Army, scoring all the coolest 70s vintage mumus and "hippie" dresses. None of these had sizes that I took notice of. Liz went to Greece and returned with a housecoat for me, like the old ladies would wear- sort of an apron-top for doing housework in. I obviously loved it. When I was 17 I went to Kenya for a volunteer work trip. We layered long skirts right over our work pants. There's a picture of me with an Adidas sweatshirt right over the top of that.

College was much like high school. My new friend Kate and I would share our best men's pants or sweats. We took dance class and so wore layers of dance clothes all day. I remember my voice teacher reprimanding me for wearing these great vintage maroon sweatpants to my voice lesson. He's the one who convinced me to stick to my opera major and drop the modern dance classes. He's the one who convinced me that vegetarianism was not good for singers- that I needed to eat pork for strength. And slowly but surely, my pursuit of a career as a classical singer started to chip away at all my previous convictions, especially that I was a singer and a dancer. That I was a hippie and a vegetarian. That I would not subject myself to fitting into stereotypes for women and what they should look like, how they should behave. I started buying clothes at Banana Republic with my mom's credit card, thinking of it as a "business expense." I wore a navy blue conservative suit with a long skirt for opera audition class and was told that I should "show some leg." Over the years there were times where I returned to my old ways- especially those years I rode a bicycle. That feeling of getting away with something came back. I started eating raw foods and hanging out with countercultural types. But then the other shoe started to drop. I was sexually assaulted by a coworker at a gym where I did massage therapy. Then I got "doored" on my bike (someone opened a car door into me as I rode past) and broke my finger. Then I was sexually harassed and threatened with expulsion at my massage school. Then I started gaining weight and dating someone more conventional. Then I had a breakdown and went home to live with my parents. Then I worked at a couple theaters that were very small-town conventional. I started shaving my legs and dieting. I moved to New York and got into Overeaters Anonymous, lost a lot of weight, passed as a thin person. I went on a lot of auditions, wearing dresses or tight (women's) jeans. I wore makeup and "did my hair." I forgot who I was. I got some jobs in musical theater. I met my husband. He helped me transition into singing opera again in hopes of me gaining more respect and more money, but it was more of the same. Twice at auditions I was asked if I was pregnant. I went on an endless search for an audition dress. I had no idea who I was. We moved out of the city. I had breakdown after breakdown. I read the book Women in Clothes. I went thrifting. I tried on these men's pants. And, click: I remembered who I was. All this time and energy spent on capsule wardrobes, and in one single moment, I realized everything was wrong. All my clothes are wrong, and all my aspirations have been wrong. I am much more than I thought I was.

When Clothes Are Love: Shopping With Mom

March 05, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

Reminiscing about my old clothes got me really sad yesterday. I thought about how many of my favorite pieces over the years were thrifted. And so I had an overwhelming urge to go thrifting. The first thing I did when I got home was to call my mom. Shopping with my mom has to be the single most comforting activity I can think of. Whether we’re on a “mission” for a particular item, or just “going on a jaunt” to our nearby shopping area, I absolutely love shopping together. We discuss all the little details of items, household tasks and how to do them, what we’re “into” lately in terms of life’s mundane joys. We pick out clothes for each other. We try things on. And we laugh and laugh together. When I’ve been in the most difficult throes of my illness, I’ve still had days where I could shop with Mom. She would say to me, “I may not be able to do anything to help you, but I can buy you clothes.” And it does help me. The immense comfort of having her provide basic necessities (or not-quite necessities) gives me a kind of relief that nothing else does. It makes me feel loved, like I deserve simple pleasures. Like I deserve love. And so yesterday, I presented one mission for us: to get a pair of pajama pants.

Having two pairs is just not enough in terms of laundry, but a third pair would make it work. My mom offered that she hadn’t been to TJ’s lately (TJ Maxx, of course), so we went there first. I collect about a dozen pairs of sweatpants and pajama pants. We split them between us and go into a dressing room together. I try everything on (she always considers it her “job” to replace the items on their hangers), and we divide everything into yes, no, maybe. I settle on a pair of taupe wide-leg pajama pants that cost $7.99. They have a high waist, wide legs, pockets, and pleats. My mom inspects some socks and slippers: it’s important the socks not be too tight, the slippers cannot have a lip at the heel. She chooses socks but rejects the slippers. The slippers are near the shoes, and a pair of pale pink New Balance catch my eye. But they are not wide width, so won’t accommodate my bunions. Then I spot some white Adidas sneakers with silver stripes. They look just like the ones that frequently appear on my Pinterest boards, so I try them on. They are shockingly comfortable, and since I’ve been wanting them for so long, I take the plunge and let my mom buy them for me. I’m sure these are not the most ethical or sustainable purchases, but I’ll speak more to that later. Pleased with our three items, we leave victorious and giggling. As we walk to the car, she asks where else I’d like to go. I express my great desire to go thrifting, mentioning my declutterer’s remorse over getting rid of so many great thrift finds. We hit Saver’s, which tends to stock more plus-size clothes than the charity shops. We start with sweaters. Then I can’t find long sleeve blouses, so my mom gets to work tracking them down. A quick stop at men’s pants and dresses, and then to the dressing rooms. The first few pieces are a no-go, especially since I’ve taken to going braless. But a bright green corduroy button-down shirt from Land’s End reminds me of a similar thrifted piece I once had and loved, so it’s a yes. A random light blue Hanes t-shirt is soft and faded, and also gets a yes. The dresses (to be worn as tops) don’t work, and neither do the men’s pants. But a sleeper item, an underdog, becomes the star of the haul: a maroon, marled sweater poncho from Land’s End is just too good to pass up. It reminds me of my grey short sleeve cardigan that doesn’t quite fall right because it’s too small. But this one fits great. My mom comments on how nice it looks, and that I can really “pull off” a poncho-style piece, like her friend Susan (my mom is extremely petite, and is swamped in these styles). All three pieces feel warm and soft, but also colorful—things my wardrobe desperately needs. They feel like things I would have worn in the past, when I cared less what people thought, when I was braver, more independent. But they’re also muted, soft, broken-in. I feel like this is the direction in which I want my wardrobe to go. Comfortable, comforting, but things no one else has. Things maybe most people wouldn’t wear, but that match up with me perfectly. They feel like mine already.

Clothes I Miss

March 04, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes

Black skinny-slouchy Calvin Klein jeans (Size 2). These were from my skinniest days, a perfect fit, not too tight, and super long and skinny so they bunched up at the ankles, which I find supremely flattering. Kind of rocker chic.

Faded black skinny Calvin Klein jeans (Size 4). A different fit, a totally different wash, and not so scrunchy at the bottoms, these were a perfect pair of denim.

Purple silky low-back sleeveless top with velvet trim neckline. This was almost a tunic style flowy top that showcased my back, which I’ve always liked. I wore it with the slouchy jeans to a Santa Fe Opera premiere, and I felt people looking at me admiringly (I think).

Black H&M synthetic sweater (Size M). Also from the skinniest days, this sweater was like a security blanket at Overeaters Anonymous meetings. I loved the way it hugged my body without being too tight, and had extra-long sleeves that scrunched over my hands.

Turquoise blouson style strappy yoga top. I don’t remember who gave this to me, but I found it ultra flattering. I remember auditioning for Phantom of the Opera in it. I also remember going on a humiliating date with a guy who I thought kissed me on the head as we said goodbye, but actually didn’t, and didn’t even think it was a date.

Black jersey blouson top. This was a simple black cap sleeve top with a banded hem that bloused out and made me look super skinny. I remember wearing it to a job interview at a professional organizing company. I was offered the job, but turned it down since I found the boss terrifying.

Wide-leg grey striped Gap pants. These were a perfect pair of pants. High rise, super slimming, and worn with the blouson top to that same interview. My roommate at the time said I looked “tiny.”

Wide-leg vintage sailor jeans (men’s). These were from a totally different era- not super skinny, but super confident in my body. I remember wearing them on a non-date at my Philly apartment with a gorgeous bicycle messenger/massage therapist.

Polyester navy blue men’s pants with an inside button and an outer double clasp (thrifted). These were an absolute favorite for me and my college roommate. We had totally different body shapes, but they were great on both of us. I wore them over tights a lot to dance class.

Pale turquoise Gap long-sleeved T-Shirt. I bought this one day in Newport, Rhode Island while I was working at a local dinner theatre and dating an unsavory bartender who ended up dumping me and getting married to someone else one month later.

Silky pink empire waist top with tie. Skinnier days, worn over a white stretchy cami because of the deep V neckline. I remember dancing in it with a local actor at a pool hall near a Cape Cod theater I had worked at.

Blue India-print blouson dress (thrifted). There’s a picture of me wearing this during college when my roommate and I were obsessed with rearranging furniture and had put one of our mattresses in the living room. I’m making a peace-sign as a joke. Great dress. Blouson styles are the best thing ever for my body type.

Minty green mumu with crochet trim and straps. A high school thrift score, this thing was awesome. It was a bit see-through, but it went great with my long hair, no bra, and unshaven legs.

Black and white African tunic dress with tie-belt. I got this on my trip to Kenya when I was 17. It had a gorgeous print- white on black- and an embroidered bib-front. I wore it one day when I went to the Newport Creamery where I had previously worked. I felt out of place among the aprons and hairnets and white Keds.

Faded blue men’s corduroy boot leg pants. These were some classic Levi’s cords that were broken in to the point of perfection. I wore them all the time when my best friend Liz and I would drive around listening to Tori Amos and smoking.

Faded red Native American T-shirt. I never wear red, but this is the one item I made an exception for. It’s faded color was soft, just like the fabric.

Two Fleet Bank olive green oversized T-shirts. I have no idea where these came from, as I never worked at a Fleet Bank (now defunct). But these were the softest, most perfectly oversized tees for wearing to bed or when you’re too lazy to get dressed to go get lunch.

Antique crochet-lace onesie. This was a onesie like a baby’s, without legs. You stepped into it and cinched the neckline with a decrepit pink ribbon, which I eventually replaced. There was no appropriate occasion to wear this. I just loved it.

African straw basket bag with leather trim. This was a goodbye gift from a family in Kenya. It was handmade and I can’t believe I got rid of it. Minimalism can be so stupid.

Maroon carpet-style bag in fake leather from H&M. I wore this to death around NYC when I was auditioning, working at a hotel, and going to Overeaters Anonymous meetings at the LGBT center in the West Village.

Skinny jeans from fancy Union Square store. These were my entry into the world of skinny jeans. The store was a little too cool for me, but I persisted. I remember telling my friend Isabel that I would never make the switch from bootcuts; then I ran into her at an audition wearing these tucked into high boots.

Grey Gap men’s zip-up hoodie. There’s a video of me wearing this during my conducting class exam. I hated my teacher. I just got rid of this recently, so it lasted about 20 years before it was too ripped up to wear.

Eggplant J. Crew blouse with V-neck and tie-waist. Never quite sure whether to wear this, as it was kind of dressy but not too dressy. Made appearances at office temp jobs from time to time. Loved the color and the semi-sheer silky fabric.

Victoria’s Secret Chunky mid-heel lace-up brown leather boots. I don’t know when Victoria’s Secret stopped making shoes, but I really wish they hadn’t. These were empowering shoes, making me a bit taller but maintaining my menswear vibe.

Victoria’s Secret black lace corset with garters. This was probably the first time in my life that I thought of myself as “sexy.” I wasn’t insecure; it just never occurred to me to think of myself that way. I was almost too embarrassed to show my boyfriend, but it was fine.

Black vintage combat boots. These laced up to mid-calf and were a combination of leather and canvas. They had a good chunky sole and were my first pair of men’s heavy boots. I wore them all through highschool, with everything.

Beige lace-up “ton-ton” boots. These looked like something out of Star Wars, but in a good way. They were a soft tan suede with inner zippers so you didn’t have to lace them up to get them on. I got them on sale at Daffy’s, a discount store in Philadelphia that had some weird designer stuff from Italy.

Men’s long army peacoat with brass buttons. The perfect coat to go with my combat boots in highschool, this was way too big but I didn’t care.

Blue men’s thermal long underwear pants (thrifted). This sounds kind of gross to me now that I thrifted men’s long johns, but I did wash them after all. And I wore them to bed or around the apartment constantly. They had banded ankles, but were kind of baggy overall and looked pretty cool, I thought.

Blue men’s pajama short-set with piping. These were men’s cotton pajamas with shorts and a short-sleeve pullover top. I guess they kind of looked like scrubs or something. I wore them to a friend’s house in high school and his mom was not impressed.

White button-down peasant top with 3/4 length puff sleeves. I wore this open as a little summer jacket all the time. It was lovely woven cotton and had a sort of non-stretchy smocked neckline.

Maroon leather trench coat. This was awesome, obviously thrifted, totally 70’s. I rarely wore it as I rode my bike around most of the time and it was pretty long. When I did wear it, I felt pretty bad-ass.

LOFT blouson spaghetti-strap cotton jersey dress. Again with the blouson. It really is the perfect fit for me, but with a hip band, not a high-waisted one like the current dresses have. Wore it on a date with a guy whose English wasn’t great, but really seemed to like me, so I went.

For more Clothes I Miss, click here or here.

A Capsule Wardrobe Is Just What You Already Wear

March 04, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Minimalism, Clothes, Capsule Wardrobe

Since the recent launch of Marie Kondo’s “Tidying Up” Show on Netflix, there has been a plethora of new closet-clearing videos on Youtube. These have always been some of my favorite videos to watch (I don’t know why watching someone get rid of things is so immensely satisfying, but apparently I’m not the only one who enjoys it). Now some videos are more satisfying than others, depending on how much stuff the person gets rid of, and how aesthetically pleasing the results are. One thing that has occurred to me during my hours of viewing is something glaring about small (or capsule) wardrobes: Often, they just consist of the items we already own and actually wear. When you remove everything you don’t wear, boom: capsule wardrobe. And so it makes me wonder what the big fear of living with a capsule wardrobe is all about. If you’re already limited to wearing a small number of clothes, why is it so scary to get rid of the excess? I think a lot of it has to do with the idea of the “fantasy self” and the difficulty of letting go of that alter-ego. If you’re not familiar, a “fantasy self” is a version of ourselves that exists only in our fantasy- and frequently, in our closets as well. If you find it hard to get rid of unworn vintage gowns, strappy holiday dresses, that Hawaiian mumu, or those impossible-to-walk-in heels, it may be that you’re actually struggling with getting rid of that idea of a self that wears these things. Another whole category of “fantasy self” clothes would be those that you plan on wearing when you lose weight. Now I am definitely guilty of this one, so no judgement here, but I think this is an important concept to address. Keeping a closet full of fantasy clothes and subsisting on a limited range of cheap basics keeps us in denial of what we actually wear. And if we don’t face what it is we actually wear, we can’t improve on it, or even enjoy it. If you’re just rotating between two pairs of black pants and a smattering of flimsy polyester blouses for work, it can be easy to ignore this fact when every time you open your closet you see swaths of color and sequins. And so I’m all for letting go of those fantasy pieces to make way for beautiful, realistic, everyday clothes that fit your real life and make you feel good. So maybe the ultimate answer for you is not to have as few items as possible, or to wear only neutrals, or to dismiss all those qualities of the fantasy clothes that you love. Perhaps a better answer is to translate those pieces into aspects of clothes you’ll actually wear. If you’re enchanted by a diaphanous pink chiffon gown with a ribbon sash, maybe you could keep your eye out for a silky pink top or pair of pants that you wear with a grosgrain ribbon in your hair. If you love the cut and style of a brightly printed vintage dress, maybe there’s a similar version in black or navy that would be more office-appropriate. Or maybe you could hold on to those hard-to-walk-in shoes, but rather than saving them for a day-long wedding, take them out to dinner where the walking is strictly from cab to table and back again. Because I think there is value in fantasy- it comes from some part of ourselves that is longing to be expressed. But sometimes the extreme of the fantasy needs to be reined in, channeled into something smaller that still maintains its essence. I’ve been re-reading the book The Curated Closet by Anuschka Rees- an elaborate discourse on creating your “dream wardrobe.” It has inspired me to expand my horizons a bit with my wardrobe. While I truly love a minimalist aesthetic in fashion as well as a minimalist lifestyle, perhaps my basics are a little too basic. In photographing my current wardrobe, I definitely came face to face with a depressingly dark and somber color palette, something I would surely like to remedy. My recent dieting efforts have led to my pants getting a little loose, though, so I’m going to hold out a while longer before investing in clothes in my current size. But thinking on the future of my wardrobe, I find myself reminiscing about things I’ve outgrown and given away- colors, patterns, textures. I’m longing for some changes that will bring me closer to my ideal wardrobe, not just a minimalist one.