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

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"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.

Living With a Non-Minimalist

February 24, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Minimalism, Mental Illness

I’m a very tidy person. In addition to my passion for getting rid of stuff, I like having a little place for each of my things to go. I like to restore my apartment to the point where all of my little riff-raff is put away and, most importantly, hidden. I have one shelf on our living room bookshelves for my mini-office. I keep my current notebooks and bullet journal at one end with a tiny Japanese teacup that holds one of my 3 pens (yes, I only have 3- one for my purse, one for my bedside, and one here). I have about a dozen books for reading and reference, a wooden box of tarot cards, a picture frame with photos of my grandmother in her youth in a bikini. I have less frequently-used notebooks tucked in at the far end along with a couple of folders with plastic sleeves where I keep magazine tear-outs or poems scribbled on scraps of paper. And this is really everything I need. It’s all tucked away on one little shelf and I love it that way.

My husband has a drastically different system. The remaining 8 bookshelves are filled with his books, just a selection from the large collection he keeps in his office. Speaking of his office, I often lament its unbearable disarray, but in his eyes it’s functional and he knows where everything is. This seems to be a common claim from less-than-tidy people- that they know where everything is within the mess. But in this case I believe it’s actually true. The only times things get confusing are when I try to “help” get him organized; that’s when things tend to get lost. Aside from that though, there is just the occasional misplacing of a wallet or pair of headphones, or any frequently used item that leaves the house on a regular basis. And truly, my husband’s book collection is essential to his work- but it doesn’t make it any easier for me to live with. I can’t shake the fantasy of a life where items are returned to drawers and not strewn around on the counter or nightstand. I designate drawers in every room specifically for his things, hoping he’ll make use of them. But he forgets what’s in the drawers and then forgets to do things, like take his vitamins or finish reading a New Yorker. I periodically (pun intended) sort through his magazines with him, asking if any can be recycled or if he still plans to read them (he kindly humors me). And yet his nightstand is always overflowing despite the three large drawers it contains. (I myself have a tiny table with no drawers and a small felt bin underneath where I keep a pen, a weighted eye mask, a coaster, and sometimes my headphones. On the table is a box of tissues and sometimes my phone.) Aside from the magazines and books and toiletries that must be on the sink top in order to be found, there is the kitchen collection of appliances and gadgets which are rarely, if ever, used- probably because I insist on storing them away, and for Matt, out of sight is out of mind. For an enthusiastic minimalist like myself, there are days when I feel like I’m living in chaos. Everywhere I turn, I see little piles of stuff that seem to appear out of nowhere and then multiply. The meticulous care and thought I’ve put into arranging my things for the good of having a clean, impeccably tidy home feels wholly unreciprocated by my husband. Some part of me feels offended that the state of things can’t change. This is especially hard when I imagine that a tidier home would help the symptoms of my mental illness; whether this is true, I doubt greatly. But the real issue is that I’m not the only person to consider here; my husband is a person, too. He deserves to feel comfortable in our home without being constantly vigilant in hiding away his belongings. It’s easy enough for me to tidy things up if guests arrive, so when it’s just us, I have to concede to Matt on this one. So much of our life revolves around my needs, my problems. Matt has to rush to my side when my mood plummets, he has to tiptoe around my feelings with certain issues, and he is constantly vigilant of my needs and wishes. And so tidiness is one area where I must surrender constant control. I can at the very least let him decide for himself what goes on his nightstand, how many books he wants to own, or whether to keep the dream of breadmaking alive. Because while I may want to be a minimalist, I can’t become so obsessed as to interfere with him living his life. Now I have made efforts to convert him, and he’s let some things go. But the truth is, it’s not in his nature to live a stark, rigidly ordered existence. His organizing style may not please me aesthetically, but it does allow him to be incredibly creative and effective in his work and otherwise. So I take a deep breath, hold back my controlling nature, and try to focus on my own stuff, material or otherwise. I truly want a happy home, and if this helps achieve that end, I’m more than willing to oblige.

Going Vegan and Coming Right Back

February 24, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Food

I watch a lot of Youtube. There’s something so soothing about watching TV where nothing happens; you just get to witness mundane details of someone’s life. One of those details that comes up again and again is the fact that the Youtuber in question is vegan. It’s become so common on Youtube (at least on the lifestyle channels I tend to watch) that veganism became mainstream, or even wholesome in my mind. I’m always looking for the simplest solution to things, and eating a vegan diet began to seem like one of those simple solutions. I tend to eat the same thing every day, so I began thinking about vegan substitutions for the animal products I eat on a daily basis. For breakfast, I have a cherry smoothie with Greek yogurt in it (it gives me 20 grams of protein, something I need to get going in the morning). So I thought that plant-based protein powder would be the perfect substitute for the yogurt. For lunch, I usually eat some tuna salad on an English muffin, so I got some chickpeas and vegan mayo to make a little faux-tuna salad. For snacks or dessert, I’ve been eating a couple cookies or a bit of chocolate, both of which have corresponding vegan options, so no problem there. And then my usual dinner is already vegan: a tofu-vegetable soup with “Nasoya Pasta Zero” in it (these are amazingly low-calorie noodles made from tofu or mushrooms- definitely check them out).

These changes seemed totally doable and I thought it would be a great, positive change for the environment and potentially for my health. My main motivation was the environmental angle (apparently 1 pound of beef takes 200,000 gallons of water to produce), so I assumed avoiding all animal products could only have positive effects on the planet. I mean, there are vast quantities of Youtube channels and blogs devoted solely to vegan recipes and lifestyles, shunning leather goods and even wool for ethical reasons. I really felt like this was more than a trendy bandwagon, and so I was ready to jump on.

Then I tried the protein powder. I choked down that first smoothie, chalky, chemical taste and all. I even justified the astronomical price for the plant-based protein powder, thinking it wasn’t that much more expensive than yogurt. But I felt positively sick after that smoothie, which led to me pondering what effect I was really having on the environment. I thought about how processed the protein powder was, how questionable the ingredients were, and how much fossil fuel and transportation were involved in its eventual arrival at my local Whole Foods. Was this really better for anyone than fresh, unsweetened yogurt? I wasn’t convinced.

Now chickpeas are a whole food, inexpensive, and unprocessed. But that vegan mayo- that was as outrageously priced as the protein powder, and raised the same questions for me regarding any positive effect on the environment. But here the main problem was in the significant difference in the quantity of protein my lunch now contained. I’m just one of those people who need a nap after a starchy meal, hence the tuna sandwiches. The change to the starchy beans was tolerable, but not great for my afternoon productivity.

Snacks were fine- definitely way more expensive, but just as tasty and sugary as their non-vegan counterparts. And that’s all I was really looking for in snacks and desserts.

Dinner, of course, just stayed dinner. I truly enjoy my vegetarian meals as much as my meals that include animal products. I actually love tofu and eat it all the time. Overall, though, I couldn’t quite swallow (pun intended) the taste, expense, or lack of protein in the various vegan foods I tried. It seems to me that vegan processed food is just as bad as non-vegan processed food in terms of environmental impact. And if you go for whole plant foods instead, you really sacrifice the amount of protein in your life.

And so I’m back to my old ways: I couldn’t stomach another smoothie, chickpea lunch, or $9 chocolate bar. Does this make me a bad person? I really don’t think so. I think my efforts for the environment would be much more effective by voting in elections, supporting the Green New Deal, writing to my State Congresspeople, and participating in political activism. A quote from a recent article in the NY Times really stuck with me: “…we live in a consumer culture that tells us we can make our political mark on the world through where we shop, what we wear, how we eat… But conscious consumption is a cop-out, a neo-liberal diversion from collective action, which is what is necessary… the effects of individual lifestyle choices are ultimately trivial compared with what politics can achieve.”

I wish all these Youtubers with vegan, zero-waste angles could be persuaded by these words. Participating in politics is a lot less trendy than using bamboo grocery bags, but unfortunately, it is the better answer to the world’s problems. Instead of going on and on about being vegan, perhaps we could make Youtube videos about registering to vote instead?

Four Perfectly Good Reasons To Gain Weight

February 18, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Food

Despite my great desire to be thin, I have struggled with my weight my entire life. It’s easy to blame the obvious reasons for weight gain: eating too much, exercising too little, etc. But I think it’s about time we got to the heart of the matter: the fact that there are legitimate reasons, especially for women, to gain weight. Some of these reasons are merely perceived while others are very real. I want to uncover these beliefs that tell us there are actual advantages to gaining weight.

1. People take you more seriously. Whether in the office or the dating scene, it is an unfortunate reality that being thin can cause you to be taken less seriously. People often objectify thin women, seeing them as merely nice to look at, as opposed to thinking, feeling human beings. Gaining weight can make those same people pay more attention to what comes out of your mouth than what you look like in a skirt. Potential suitors might tend to be less superficial and more concerned with the person you are. While on the surface it may seem that life is easier for thin people, being taken seriously may, in fact, be a struggle for them. This can lead to the subconscious belief in us that being heavier would remedy the problem. Such a belief is enough to sabotage your health and fitness goals and lead to weight gain.

2. You think you’re less likely to be raped. Whether or not this belief is actually true (I can’t find any relevant statistics online), this is actually a very common belief in women, whether conscious or subconscious. There is a great deal of research and academic writing on the association between obesity and childhood sexual abuse. Apparently becoming overweight is a disturbingly frequent response to sexual trauma. And while I doubt that gaining weight offers any real protection from rape or sexual assault, it is the underlying belief that it does that matters here. This belief alone can lead to weight gain.

3. Eating is your only source of comfort. There are times in most of our lives where overeating is the only thing we can do to cope with difficulty. The term “emotional eating” is practically mainstream (thanks, Oprah), and the behavior makes perfect sense. Whether you’re lonely, grieving, angry, or simply stressed out, food can be a great comfort. Not only does it provide distraction from our problems, but it provides a warm pressure in your belly that can further relieve the physical inner turmoil of negative emotions. Making a habit of turning to food for comfort can lead to overeating and weight gain, whether you consciously want it or not.

4. Weight drama is a great distraction. Going up and down the scale, taking on new extreme diets, cycling through different sizes of clothes, arranging your life around your diet and gym schedule- any one of these things would be a great distraction from real life. And when life is difficult or complicated, weight drama can be a welcome distraction from problems that can’t be solved. We are often baffled by how we can be sailing along on our latest diet when all of a sudden it goes out the window for no good reason. But the drama of our weight shooting back up the scale keeps us focused on our diet and distracted from everything else. It maintains the fantasy that losing weight is our only problem, and if it were solved, everything would be great. And when times are hard, keeping up this back and forth can actually be a welcome relief.

It may seem obvious to most of us that we want to be thin, that there is nothing good about weight gain, and that losing weight is the answer to all our problems. But it is important to keep in mind the potential benefits that weight gain can afford us. Recognizing and facing our underlying beliefs about weight can stop them from having power over us and help us resolve our issues with food. While I myself am attempting to lose weight for what seems like the millionth time, I am also trying to address my beliefs about body size and find alternative ways of taking care of myself. I am trying to assert myself, protect myself, comfort myself, and face my problems without using food to do it. I hope I can learn to speak for myself rather than have my weight do it for me.

Closet Contents and The Weight-Change Capsule Wardrobe

February 17, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Minimalism, Mental Illness, Capsule Wardrobe

It’s been a rough week. I fired my therapist (don’t ask), haven’t been leaving the house much, and haven’t had the wherewithal to do any reading or writing. I have managed to exercise, shower, make my own dinner, do dishes, do a load of laundry, and watch about 60 hours of Youtube. While it’s better than what I’ve been capable of at certain points in my life, it still feels pathetic, and hopelessness has crept back in.

My latest coping mechanism is fixating on the state of my closet. For someone with a capsule wardrobe, I have a ton of stuff in there. My closet acts as our linen closet, so there are extra pillows, bed sheets, and various quilts and blankets. Then there’s my sewing machine, a box of sewing supplies, and some leftover muslin. Then an acid-free box with my wedding outfit folded inside. My shoes are on a rack set up on a shelf, and my bags are lined up on that same shelf as well. I have a bin of packing cubes and reusable tote bags for travel. On the floor is a tiny stool for meditation and a large cushion for curling up on on really bad days. I have a chest of drawers that holds my pajamas, workout gear, socks, and underwear.

And then there’s my dirty little secret: the clothes I keep in storage. This is not seasonal storage, or cocktail dresses, or ski pants. It is solely clothes that do not fit me right now – or more specifically, clothes that are too small. I am near my highest weight ever right now, and I had to buy several items just to fill out the 25 item capsule I currently wear. But only a year and a half ago, I weighed 152 pounds (I’m well over 200 now), and I spent a lot of time, money, and energy finding clothes that fit me at that weight. My medications have played a big part in this weight fluctuation: Adderall helped me lose weight and Seroquel made me gain weight. But now that I’m off of both these meds, I am hoping to get back to a lower weight; hence the saving and storing of all these too-small clothes.

My weight has always fluctuated dramatically over the years, my lowest weight being around 125 and my new high being 224. I’ve had clothes at every size in between and whenever my weight would change, I’d get rid of what didn’t fit. It’s a common suggestion to get rid of anything that doesn’t fit, among minimalists and size-acceptance advocates alike. But the irony often was that I’d ditch the skinny clothes and immediately lose weight. Then I’d buy new skinny clothes, ditch whatever was too big, and immediately gain weight. This cycle continued over and over again. On a financial level as well as an environmental one, this is not a sustainable lifestyle.

So this last time that I lost weight (a year and a half ago), I kept my fat clothes. Only the ones I loved, but I kept a good amount and packed them away in a clear plastic bin on the top shelf of my closet. And when I gained weight once again, it saved me time and money having these clothes on hand. It’s hard to find things that fit at any size, so I was glad to not have to go shopping as my weight increased. And then I saved the smaller clothes in turn, thinking I’d pull them out when my weight went down again.

This seemed like a good system to me, and a good way to tell myself that I’m acceptable at any size, and deserve to wear clothes I love. This approach is something I call “The Weight-Change Capsule Wardrobe.” The strategy is to keep a small capsule of clothes for each size as opposed to each season. 25 items is plenty for me, since my lifestyle is largely uneventful. And there is usually some crossover of items between sizes, so I don’t necessarily need 25 pieces in every size within a 100-pound range. But it’s still a lot to store — daywear, pajamas, workout clothes, even jewelry — and it bothers me to have such a vast wardrobe of clothes that don’t fit. I truly want to be a minimalist like the people I see on Youtube, with tiny wardrobes, vegan diets, and tiny bodies. But I don’t know how realistic it is for me to assume my weight will never fluctuate again. And the environmental waste produced by my ever-changing wardrobe is something I desperately want to avoid.

Lately, though, there’s a little voice inside my head saying, “This time will be different…” or “I won’t regain the weight, so I don’t have to keep the bigger clothes.” I imagine selling my larger clothes on Ebay as I continue down the scale. And perhaps this really is the last time I have to go through this. My meds are more stable, and I feel more committed to a reasonable diet and exercise regime for the long haul. I lost 6 pounds last month according to my doctor, putting me 18 pounds below my highest weight of 224. I’ve continued to increase the intensity of my exercise, limit my calories, and do intermittent fasting (which at the very least keeps me from snacking at night). I still feel ”not myself” when I look in the mirror, but lately I’m a bit more hopeful that I’ll get there eventually. And I’m eager to wear those too-small clothes up there, not because losing weight is the answer to all my problems, but because I love those clothes. I carefully considered every purchase, searching tirelessly for just the right things, and spending more money than usual on quality pieces. So for now, my closet is full, but I am where I am.

Our Minimalist Kitchen

February 05, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Minimalism, Mental Illness

I went to therapy today and we discussed my previous session which my husband attended with me. My therapist commented on how helpful it was to see us together, and I was glad she could see how much fun we have, how we make each other laugh. She also remarked on what an asset it is for me to have that kind of support. I am truly lucky that Matt has stuck by me, no matter what, and that he continues to do so, no matter what. I could never repay everything he’s done for me, from helping me with my medications and doctors to simply comforting me in the worst days of my life.

I was having a rough time a little over a year ago, when we were in Germany for his work. My meds weren’t helping enough, and I spent every night sobbing in despair. It was during this time that Matt started rubbing my feet to help me calm down. He would massage my feet very deeply, using a wooden massage tool to get more leverage. I can’t explain exactly why this was so effective, but it relieved me of my great despair. I think the pleasant pain of the deep massage was intense enough to distract me from my emotional pain. So every night, in our tiny attic apartment, up in the sleeping loft with the sloped ceiling, Matt would rub my feet. Often for an hour or more he would do this, in between directing and designing an opera at the local opera house. Where he found the energy I will never know, but such is his love for me that he did. While life has dealt me a bad hand in terms of brain chemistry, I’ve been phenomenally lucky in love. I can’t remember how or why this ritual of foot massages started, but I can say it has been extremely helpful in the throes of my illness. I wholeheartedly recommend massage as a coping strategy for depression. While medication and therapy are the obvious treatments, I think there is something valuable in finding pleasure in the midst of so much pain.

In that tiny attic apartment, there was a tiny kitchen. We had a few plates and glasses which we supplemented with American-sized coffee mugs from the Euro shop. Every morning Matt would run out and buy croissants from the bakery on our street, and we’d eat them with blueberries and yogurt at our little table. For dinner we had no stove, so we would come up with creative ways to cook without one. We had an electric kettle, and so we made blanched vegetables, pasta, and couscous. We had a microwave, and could heat frozen chicken to go with it. It wasn’t much, but I loved that kitchen. It was truly a minimalist arrangement, and it somehow seemed less difficult to do dishes or prepare a meal. So when we got home, I tried to make over our kitchen into a more minimalist setting. I whittled down our dishes to just 4 plates, 2 bowls, 4 glasses, and 4 mugs. We have 4 saucers, and 2 large dishes for bigger meals. We have an electric kettle which we use with a set of metal nesting bowls with lids to blanche vegetables, make tofu or couscous. We got rid of our dish drying rack, which was always toppling over, and have a simple drainboard instead. You can only fit so many dishes on it, but we only have so many anyway. I sorted our silverware and cooking utensils, keeping all the essentials, but no more. Our dishes are on open shelves, and our few pots and pans hang on a pot rack. We make coffee “pourover” style, using the kettle and a plastic cone with paper filters. We of course have a stove, but the simple meals we invented are things I can manage on my own. I don’t get so overwhelmed that I can’t cook for myself. We usually dry all our dishes by hand and put everything away so it’s ready for our next meal. My husband actually enjoys cooking (I don’t), so of course he keeps some specialty items: a breadmaker, a crockpot, a small bin of gadgets. But they’re stored away so they’re not in our regular rotation. And there’s nothing without a purpose, no excess, and that has helped me manage my meals when he’s working (or when he’s not). I try to wash my dishes immediately with water when I can, leaving just a few things to scrub or soak. And just recently we gave up our cases of plastic water bottles for 2 metal reusable ones. We fill them from the tap, and so far it’s fine. We can’t figure out what’s worse- the tap water or the microplastics in bottled water- so we went for the simpler, cheaper choice and just hope for the best. Nothing’s perfect, but for me, simpler is definitely better.

Still In My Pajamas, and Exercise Update

February 02, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Mental Illness, Minimalism, Capsule Wardrobe

While mental conditions for me are gradually improving (I’ve just recently embarked upon some therapy with a Clinical Psychologist/PhD), much of my time is still spent in my pajamas. I thought I’d give a thorough inventory of my pajama capsule as it stands.

There are 8 tops in total: 4 identical “boyfriend tees” from Old Navy in faded blue, and 4 “relaxed fit” tanks, also from Old Navy — 2 white, 1 black, and 1 grey. All of these were chosen for their loose, comfortable fit, but also for the specific 100% slub cotton of which they are made. I’ve found that the slub cotton from Old Navy — it has a slight texture to the weave — wears especially well through wash after wash. Now, not all slub cotton is created equal. My Gap Factory T-shirts are clearly not of the same caliber. But these 8 Old Navy tops are holding up beautifully despite the frequent wear and washing. Maybe other people don’t need 8 pajama tops, but when you’ve been debilitatingly depressed for a stretch of time, your priorities tend to shift, wardrobe-wise.

For bottoms, I have two pairs of sweatpants and three pairs of shorts. One pair of pants is from Two by Vince Camuto; they are wide-leg and a lovely soft pink color. I’ve yet to find an answer to the question of whether or not these are maternity pants — please contact me if you know — but I love them either way. The other pants are drawstring, stretch-terry sweats from Andrea Jovine Woman. I’ve had them for ages and they’re a little ragged, but certainly doing the job. For shorts, I have 2 pairs of Old Navy cotton poplin sleep shorts with a ribbon drawstring waist. Both are crisp white with a print: one pink paisley and one blue geometric. The third pair of shorts is a real oldie but goodie — a men’s pair of XXL jersey pants that have been cut off into shorts. I’ve had them for quite some time — Russell Athletic is made to last — and I don’t see much wear at all aside from a bit of fading. Sometimes I layer a pair of pants over my shorts to hang around the house and then just wear the shorts to sleep in.

Three more items complete the capsule — 16 pieces in all? — a hoodie in black lightweight terry from Cable and Gauge, and a grey textured pullover hoodie from Lou and Grey by LOFT. Both are great for layering as loungewear, especially when you need to answer the door sans bra. And a pair of fleece slippers from Lands’ End.

Speaking of braless activities, my exercise routine has continued to improve and, more importantly, exist. I’m still wearing my pajama tops to the gym with a zip-up fleece over the top, and that little bit of time saved from putting a bra on has proved crucial to my continued progress.

Tagging along with my husband on his gym visits is working well, and I’ve actually increased my weights so it takes more effort to power through. Weight lifting in general has always seemed like a lazy activity compared to running — I mean, you’re sitting down much of the time. But upping the weight does get my heart pounding between sets. When at the gym, we do 3 or 4 machines, 3 sets each, alternating lats-biceps-back-legs or chest-triceps-legs depending on the day. More machines than that would probably be too many for my level of mojo, so we leave it at that and walk on the treadmill for a few minutes. We started out slow, at 2.5 with no incline for 7 minutes, and I’ve worked my way up to 3.0 at an incline of 4 for 10 minutes. On days we don’t go to the gym, I just walk on our treadmill at home, also at 3.0 with an incline of 4 for 20 minutes and call it a day.

The plan is to continue increasing the intensity of my workouts so slowly that I hardly notice a thing. For instance, next will be an incline of 5 or 6, and then maybe an increase of speed to 3.2, making a change each week until I’m walking uphill at a good clip. This is where it’ll get exciting for me: after walking at a steep incline for so long, I’ll start building in a little running on a flat plane. I’ve been agonizing over the idea of running, since it’s always been my go-to for weight loss, but it has felt impossible with my current mood and flagging fitness level. Hopefully, it’ll just work in seamlessly with this strategy (my husband says that after the incline, running flat is a breeze for him), and I’ll be back up to speed in no time. The major hurdle will be wrestling into a sports bra in order to do it.

My Habit Tracker and My Scarves

January 29, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Mental Illness, Clothes, Minimalism, Capsule Wardrobe

I started a bullet journal last year after hearing all about them on Youtube. Doubling as both a calendar and an ongoing to-do list, I discovered some other features that have proved quite useful. A bullet journal is great for all kinds of lists, like “All the Books I Want To Read This Year,” or “All the Clothes I Need for My Capsule Wardrobe.” But my favorite function of the bullet journal has to be the Habit Tracker. It’s not complicated; it’s basically just a chart with a row for each habit you want to do and a column for each day of the month. Habit completed; check box. For some people this may sound unnecessary or a little too Type-A, but I’ve adopted it as a way to track all the little things I do every day. If you’re battling depression like I am, it’s a great way to give yourself credit for everything you’re able to achieve, and to not take anything for granted.

Some items on my list:

Take pills
Shower
Wash dishes
Exercise
Brush teeth
Listen to audio book

There are days with lots of check marks and extra activities written in as well. But there are also days when all I’ve checked off is “Take pills.” For me, the idea is to recognize that each one of these tasks is an accomplishment, not an expectation. Because sometimes as I start to get better and my depression begins to lift, I simultaneously increase my expectations for myself and forget how far I’ve come. It also feels good to have a record of how I spend my days, especially for those times when I yell at myself for not accomplishing enough.

A big part of coping with my depression involves grieving for the loss of time. I look back at years of my life and am filled with regret for all the things I didn’t get to do. I want that time back. I want to hurry up and “make up for lost time.” I panic at the thought of how far off track I am, wondering if I’ll ever be able to get back on. This is where patience is key: the Habit Tracker helps me break everything down into small, achievable steps. It reminds me to be patient, slow down, and keep building. It tells me to celebrate small victories and be gentle with myself in defeat. Today, I exercised. Today, I went to the doctor. Today, I got dressed.

Today I wore my favorite winter scarf- it’s a chunky, oversized, cable-knit scarf in grey cashmere. It’s extremely long and wraps around twice so that I’m bundled up to my eyeballs on cold days. After pinning numerous images of chunky scarves on Pinterest, I went onto Thredup to look for something to fit the bill. This one was less than $20 and pre-loved, but it is 100% cashmere and says “Cruciani” on the label. (No idea who Cruciani is, but it sounds Italian, and therefore, luxurious.) It’s perfect to slouch around my shoulders when in drafty coffee shops or wrap around twice in cold weather. I do have another winter scarf for less extreme weather; it’s a blush Calvin Klein logo scarf that I like to wrap once around my neck and then tuck an end under in front to cover that gap beneath my neck. I wear it under my coat and then leave it on indoors, too, for a subtle bit of color with whatever I’m wearing.

For more formal occasions, I have two beautiful scarves that were gifts from my mother-in-law. One is a delicate silk rectangle with a large-scale floral on a black background; the brand is Old Shanghai. The other is a huge square of turquoise velvet with a burnout floral pattern; I’ve worn it as a shawl over an all-black look for dressy nights out. It’s from The Metropolitan Museum of Art gift shop; they have really beautiful things if you’ve never checked it out.

I even have a couple of scarves for spring and summer. One is a sheer, white, woven frothy thing that looks great with my khaki anorak jacket. The other I made from some remnant material from a duvet cover I was altering at the time. The fabric is stiff for a scarf- it’s a blush, woven cotton with a damask pattern in gold- but it was far too lovely to be thrown away. I’ve never seen a scarf quite like it, but I love the way it layers with more revealing summer clothes.

Is six scarves too many? Maybe, but I do love (and wear) them all. I love the slouchy look of a scarf; it’s an unexpected alternative to jewelry- a softer, subtler accessory. Wearing one makes me feel protected, more self-possessed, gentler. It adds color and texture to my otherwise monochromatic wardrobe. It covers me up without drowning me in fabric, making me feel modest yet modern.

The White T-Shirt Disaster and Deodorant Safety

January 26, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Minimalism

I wear a T-shirt every day, and since downsizing to just five, each one must do its part. So when I went to wear my only white T-shirt and discovered dark grey stains all over the armpits, I was a bit bothered. I added the shirt to this week’s load of bleached whites, letting it soak in the washer for a while before the wash cycle. To my shock and horror, the stains did not come out, and the shirt appears to be destined for a future as cleaning rags. Now how, you may wonder, did these strange stains come to be? It appears that they are the result of my all-natural- and very expensive- Dr. Hauschka Rose Deodorant. A true deodorant in roll-on form, it is not an antiperspirant and so contains no aluminum. I am a great fan of many Dr. Hauschka products- face scrub, day cream, eye cream, etc. and never imagined they would contain anything that would react this way with a T-shirt. I am inclined to blame the apparently chemical reaction on the cheap, fast-fashion origins of said T-shirt. Yes, I really did drink the Kool-Aid when I watched The True Cost and am already experiencing remorse over my most recent clothing purchases. The 3-pack of ASOS T-shirts for $24 simply had to have been made in sub-par working conditions with questionable materials in order to be offered at such a bargain price. So I will not be replacing the T-shirt from ASOS, or from any other retailer: I have decided to resurrect my 2 white GAP Factory Tees to be worn layered together. Upon watching The True Cost, I concluded that donating these somewhat worn tops was not a good enough answer anymore. Apparently it would be very unlikely that they would even end up on the thrift shop floor, and most likely would end up in a landfill, either here or in another less-developed country. So I’ve been sitting on them, trying to come up with a better solution. I finally decided that the four LOFT swing tees would eventually replace my current sleep tees once they wear out, and the 2 black and 2 navy GAP Factory tees would eventually become my gym tees when the current ones are unwearable. The white GAP Factory ones I was undecided about, but then lo and behold, they’ve come in handy once again.

But back to the deodorant issue. I started using Dr. Hauschka deodorant as a way to avoid anti-perspirants which contain aluminum. While the jury is still out on whether this aluminum could contribute to breast cancer or Alzheimer’s, the Swiss have passed a bill banning its use in cosmetics. Now I still own some Dove anti-perspirant, as it definitely lasts longer and is more effective for very sweaty days, but I’ve been trying to use it sparingly in case there is actually any truth to the aluminum-related suspicions. I would certainly tolerate being a bit smelly over ending up with Alzheimer’s, so until they come up with anything conclusive, I’m treading carefully. There’s also something really disconcerting about trying to wash off anti-perspirant in the shower and having to soap up three or four times.

But I digress. The real crisis has been averted- I will not go without a white T-shirt. Fast fashion has been defeated (just a little) for today. The only question weighing on all of our minds is: Do the two T-shirts count as one item or two in my capsule wardrobe? I can only wear them together since they are so thin and see-through. Does this mean I can call it one and keep my nice, round 25-item capsule intact? Minimalists everywhere might be outraged- “Cheater!” they’d call me. But I answer to no one but myself in my clothing escapades, and in my minimalist search for truth and happiness. I’ll take some credit for rescuing the older tees and keep my number to 25. Just don’t tell them about my 11 pairs of shoes…

I Saw The True Cost and It Changed Everything

January 25, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Minimalism

I’ve heard this documentary, The True Cost, recommended on so many blogs and Youtube channels that I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get down to watching it. And I must admit, I get the hype. If you’ve just been nodding along politely (like me) to all those sustainable and ethical fashion posts, watching this movie will prove to be a real game-changer. Now I won’t even get into all the statistics and horror stories about the shameful garment industry- I’ll let you see the film for yourself. I’ll get straight into what you can do about it on a personal consumer level.

1. Buy ethically, sustainably made clothing whenever possible. Now, as a plus size woman I see the difficulty here- not many ethical brands carry plus sizes. Here are a few of my favorites to start with: Eileen Fisher, Elizabeth Suzann, Girlfriend Collective, and Alice Alexander. There are many more options available in straight sizes, from designer Stella McCartney to the reasonably priced Everlane.

2. I know these brands are more expensive. That’s the whole point. The actual cost of making a garment is far more than what we’re used to paying at fast fashion giants where everything is made in sweatshops. Clothing, it turns out, should not be an impulse buy or a disposable item. It should be a deliberate, carefully considered purchase with a certain commitment to owning the item involved. If you harken back to the 1960s, when clothing was made in the U.S., people spent a larger percentage of their income on clothing, yet bought significantly fewer items. Before manufacturing was jobbed out to the Third World, buying a dress was a special occasion, a somewhat major decision, and something that was considered thoroughly.

3. If you must buy from the big brands, opt for items with longevity that can be worn for years, or, if you frequently reinvent yourself via style, can be resold. Check out Ebay or Poshmark the next time you’re considering a new purchase- see what the resale value is and take that into account. If it sells secondhand, that’s a good indicator of longevity. If you simply plan on keeping an item for a long time, this is so much more preferable to replacing the item a short time later and feeding further into the fast fashion industry.

4. If none of the above are options and you’re on a really tight budget, by all means, thrift! Especially when you consider all the online availability of secondhand clothing on Ebay, Thredup, and Poshmark, this is truly a no-brainer. Buying secondhand is always ethically and sustainably superior to the purchase of new goods. It is truly a way to recycle clothes with the added bonus of preventing them from ending up in a landfill somewhere. Note: Apparently only 10% of donated clothing ends up on the thrift shop floor, so always, always try to resell rather than donate. Or else find organizations who might be better equipped to use your cast-offs.

If I sound somewhat fanatical about all this, I am! I am fired up and completely rethinking my recent decision to donate some T-shirts and a few other items. They don’t make much on Ebay and it didn’t seem worth the bother. But after seeing this film, I decided to repurpose some of the tees as pajama tops and some as workout tops when my current ones are beyond repair. And I’m going to list the other items (a pair of linen joggers, two woven cotton camisoles, and a pair of shoes) on Ebay. I’m ignoring the fact that they aren’t big-ticket items and am more interested in finding them a new home. In terms of new purchases, I’m sticking with what I already have for the foreseeable future. If I manage to lose a significant amount of weight, I’ll resell what doesn’t fit and pull items from storage to wear. If I do feel the need to buy anything new, I’ve got my sights set on Eileen Fisher: way out of my price range normally, but if I were to save up for a clothing purchase, I could justify a carefully considered item that will last a long time. And if the urge to impulse-buy crops up, I will be hitting the Salvation Army or Goodwill in my area. If I don’t find anything that suits me, I could always rescue a few gems to resell. The recycling continues!

Finding Out How Much I Weigh, and Handbags.

January 17, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Food, Minimalism, Capsule Wardrobe

I typically have a policy of never knowing how much I weigh. I don’t own a scale, and when I’m weighed at the doctor’s office, I ask not to be told my weight. I just don’t look at the number. With the prevalence of eating disorders in this country, most doctors and nurses comply without a second thought. If they do question it, I simply tell them that it’s detrimental to my mental health to know my weight. That usually ends the discussion. But over the past few months, I have weaned off of medication that caused weight gain. I’ve also drastically reduced the amount of food I’m eating in a day in an attempt to lose some excess weight. Progress has appeared to be exceedingly slow, at least according to how my clothes fit and how I look in the mirror. Out of a desperate curiosity, I asked my husband to tell me the number written down in my most recent psychiatrist’s appointment. How much has my weight gone down in the past 4-5 months of coming off the meds and eating less? I hoped to be pleasantly surprised, but I was not. The shocking truth: 12 pounds. I started around 224, and now am about 212. Deep breath. Now I see nothing wrong with anyone else being this weight- I see beautiful plus-size women who weigh more than me all the time. But I can’t help feeling a deep discomfort with my body at this size. I like to think it’s not for the superficial reasons: society’s unreasonable standards for women’s bodies, etc. I like to think it’s a more subtle “preference” to be closer to the weight I was for so many years- 140 or 150 pounds. A desire to feel comfortable in my own skin, to feel more athletic, less self-conscious. Am I just kidding myself? Am I every bit as shallow as I fear I am? And 12 pounds is nothing to sneeze at- that’s three-quarters of a pound a week, and I’ve been getting very little exercise and rarely leaving the house. I know that slow weight loss is ideal for long-term results, and I am 40 years old. My metabolism is not exactly that of a spring chicken. But it still seems painfully slow for the amount of effort I’ve put out. In addition to limiting my calories, I’m doing “intermittent fasting,” a new thing my doctor told me about where you limit the number of hours per day in which you eat. It’s supposed to be heart-healthy and good for weight loss. So this discovery of my current weight is enough of a disappointment to send me into a binge, cancelling out what little progress I’ve made. Clearly I’m not as body-positive as I had hoped. I told myself when I bought my current plus-size clothes that I would “see where my weight ends up.” At what point did I adopt this thin-or-die attitude? Was it finding out my weight that was the problem, or was this attitude what provoked me to ask? I squelched the urge to overeat and decided to keep my head down, keep calm, and carry on.

One purchase I made for my current plus-size wardrobe was a new crossbody bag. As I’m sure other plus size women know, a crossbody strap has to be a certain length to be comfortable. I myself was surprised to find one day that my purse was too small- I was in danger of strangulation-by-purse. Out of respect for my new body, I purchased a new bag with a longer strap at TJ Maxx. It’s a black leather Margot bag with one large zippered pouch and one outside flap pocket. While the strap length is quite accommodating, I’m finding the lack of structure to the bag incredibly frustrating. Despite several inner pockets, everything I own ends up in a pile at the bottom of the bag. It’s difficult to find anything, and it makes it seem like I’m carrying around the proverbial kitchen sink and everything else. After a few weeks of dealing with this frustration, I’ve gone back to my old bag, just hanging it on my shoulder instead. It’s structured much like a camera bag with 2 top zippers and a zippered pouch under the flap. There are compartments galore and it feels like walking around with a tiny, very efficient filing cabinet at my fingertips. The bag is soft navy leather, and it was a thrift-store find for $7. The brand is Aurielle, not a very sought-after name, but I’ve searched and searched and found nothing as compact and convenient in my price range (which is about $7). So now I carry a shoulder bag; big deal. I can find things immediately because they stay where I left them.

I’m clearly not a big handbag person, and only own three other bags. One is an enormous faux-leather black tote with a top zipper from Adrienne Vittadini (another common TJ’s brand). And then there’s the small, blush, faux leather clutch from ASOS. Purchased for my wedding, it has an oversized silver button with a magnetized snap closure. I also own a little army pouch from the Army Navy store that I’ve had since high school. It is so convenient for long walks when all you need is a phone and some cash. And- oh, wait! I have a backpack, too. The Victorinox Cadet in black is extremely durable - my husband’s Victorinox backpack has lasted over a decade - and is the perfect size to fit under an airplane seat with a laptop and sweater inside. It even has side pouches for a water bottle and a packet of tissues.

I find it reassuring, somehow, to continue carrying all my usual bags despite my significant weight gain. Like with shoes, I feel some essential part of my identity remains intact, even as the rest of my wardrobe changes. Aside from the crossbody-now-shoulder bag, I also love and use all the rest: clutch for dressing up, tote for hitting the cafe (laptop in tow), backpack for travel, and army pouch for walking our nearby bikepath. It’s a decidedly minimalist collection; the Margot handbag is already listed on Ebay.

Before Konmari, there was Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui

January 17, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Minimalism

Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui Smaller.jpg

Long before Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up hit the stores, there was another little life-changing book on the same subject: Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui by Karen Kingston. While I love both of Marie Kondo’s books, Karen Kingston’s work holds a special place in my heart because it introduced me to the idea of minimalism before anyone had a trendy word for it.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve had minimalist tendencies since childhood, but it really kicked into gear as I was leaving for college. I took it as a point of pride to have “not that much stuff” in my college trunk, and another point of pride to not leave much at my parents’ house. I whittled down my thrifted, hippie wardrobe and got rid of all my stuffed animals until I reached a point that felt reasonable.

Then, in my early twenties, I found Karen Kingston’s book in a second-hand bookstore. Published in 1998, it was actually a follow-up to her first book, Creating Sacred Space with Feng Shui. This first book focused on her version of Space Clearing, but in one short paragraph she mentioned the importance of clearing clutter. The overwhelming response from readers regarding the subject indicated how significant a process it is, and this gem of a clutter-clearing book was born. Full of practical advice and common sense regarding clutter, there are plenty of fun, magical elements among her methods. One of my favorites is applying the Feng Shui bagua, which helps identify which parts of your home correspond with different aspects of your life. But overall, the book is simply an incredibly motivational and inspirational guide to getting rid of all your excess, unloved junk. She tells numerous tales of the wonderful results her clients have enjoyed from clearing their clutter, and speaks of a whole range of benefits to doing so.

But what I find most fascinating and insightful about this particular book is the explanation of the symbology of stuff. Old, unread books are outdated ideas no longer relevant to your life. Objects with negative associations are particularly draining to your energy. Clutter representing your past keeps you tied to your past and prevents you from moving forward in life. And dark, depressing artwork leads to a depressed outlook on life. Even owning singular objects instead of pairs of objects prevents you from making yourself open to new relationships.

I’ve read, re-read, and listened to the audio version of this book dozens of times and find new decluttering wisdom every time. I find it energizes me to rethink items I’d never even considered getting rid of, and enjoy a new sense of freedom and detachment from clutter. The book is short, highly engaging, and has less strict rules than Marie Kondo’s books. She suggests starting small- with just a drawer or a cupboard- and this approachability is far less overwhelming than “konmari-ing” your whole house in one go. Alternatively, it creates a habit of decluttering whenever it occurs to you as a method of self-improvement and embracing the future.

While my own collection of belongings has fluctuated greatly over the years, I have found it surprisingly easy to move on from failed relationships, outdated job commitments, and moving from city to city. My lack of attachment to my stuff allowed me to live in a tiny (50 square foot) room in New York City for many years, and enjoy a spacious, airy apartment in my current three-family house. I’m never struck with a desire for more space and find it quite pleasurable to have a good clearout every year or so. I’ve even managed to (somewhat) reform my clutter bug of a husband, who often thanks me for keeping our home clutter-free. And he is even inspired himself to declutter his own things as time goes by.

Perhaps the most significant improvement this book has given me was my recent letting-go of decades of career-related materials when I realized it was time to move on. While letting go of my career was an incredibly difficult change for me, letting go of all that stuff was truly cathartic and freeing. I highly recommend this book to anyone else who was enchanted by The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. The approach may be a bit different, but it is every bit as inspiring as Marie Kondo’s wonderful books. Give it a read: Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui by Karen Kingston

Dissolving Capsules, and Workout Updates

January 12, 2019 by Kristin Purcell in Clothes, Minimalism, Mental Illness

There’s been some gray area for me lately between capsules: my pajamas and workout gear are frequently overlapping, and both categories are seeping into my daytime wear. Now there have been many days where I’ve neglected to change into “real” clothes and just worn my pajamas all day. But I usually keep my workout wear and pajamas strictly separate. Blue pocket tees (4 of them) are for sleep, and gray tees (also 4) are for working out. But there has been a new development in my workout routine (or lack thereof) which is blurring those lines.

I had been walking on the treadmill in my office for an hour at a time rather sporadically over the past month or so. But then things ground to a halt once again and I barely moved beyond the couch or bed. I was overwhelmed at the thought of getting dressed in workout clothes, working out for a full hour, and then having to shower and wash said clothes.

I decided all of this would change on the first of the year, joining in the most cliched New Year’s Resolution there is: to start exercising every day. I decided to do a 30-day Yoga Challenge, and in addition would do one of the preset programs on the treadmill every day. I prepared, I researched, I laid out clothes. And on New Year’s Day, I did yoga. Now, I’ve done a good amount of yoga in my life. I’m experienced in working the classic poses. But being well over 200 lbs right now, I found yoga very, very different from when I was thin. My knees hurt, which is always a bad thing. I didn’t have the strength to hold myself up in downward dog or plank pose. And I had to keep stopping and resting during the warrior poses; my legs were shaking from bearing my body weight.

I finished the video 30 minutes later, despondent and hysterically crying. I felt so angry at this 90 lb waif touting “beginner” yoga with no regard for the fact that her students might not be 90 lbs as well. I flopped into bed and cried to my husband, a former ballet dancer, and he agreed that yoga teachers in general don’t seem to know how to teach people who are heavy, inflexible, or not already aware of their specific alignment needs. He talked me down, and suggested I rethink my fitness routine. We talked it over, and I decided I’d go with him to the gym every day where he works out for 15-20 minutes. He’d adjust the weights for me as we took turns on the machines, and we’d walk on the treadmills for 7 minutes. It was hard to see the point of such an easy workout, but a week into it, I’m starting to see the point. I’m way less overwhelmed at the thought of exercise, especially since the plan is to gradually increase the intensity without extending the time. So far, I know it’s definitely better than what I was doing before: absolutely nothing. It’s also getting me out of the house without really having to interact with other humans, a nice bonus. I just keep my hat and headphones on and never, ever make eye contact.

I think part of what’s working for me is:

I don’t bother wearing a bra- just a heavy fleece over my T-shirt
I wear my pajama T-shirt from the night before
I don’t usually sweat enough to warrant a shower
My workout pants can go a few days without being washed

One strange result of this new routine is that the clear delineation between my pajamas, workout clothes, and daytime clothes has all but disappeared. Right now I’m wearing workout socks and pants, a pajama top, and a pajama hoodie- and it’s the middle of the day. Maybe this dissolution of separate capsules is my own secret to regular exercise. Perhaps allowing my workout clothes into the rest of my life is making space for actually working out?