It's been discussed time and time again how us ladies have a very personal relationship with clothing. Emotional attachment, if you will. We cherish every piece thanks to all of their baggage, as though it's a way to time-travel back into the experiences we had while wearing them. There is sentimental value that we attribute to every garment as a way to keep memories alive.
And while your clothes are most likely worthless to every other mortal, it simply remains impossible to put a price on sentimental value. How many times have I finally made the excruciating decision of parting ways with a [fill in the blank because I wore it on my first date with my husband], only to have it be adamantly rejected by the too-cool-for-school buyer at Buffalo Exchange, dismissed as utterly unsalable.
What had given me extreme grief due to my head and my heart battling it out in the war of reason, knowing full well that I would never don X piece again and that it was taking up precious real estate in my closet, was rendered futile -- moot at best -- by some chick with the authority to accept or refuse my wardrobe rejects. "It's not really a reject! Do you know how cool this piece is/once was?!" I want to say each time this happens. Alas, no one else cares.
And all sentimental appropriation starts somewhere. Whether it's a hand-me-down from your mom, a piece that's been in your family for ages, or the top you were wearing the day you met your soulmate, there was a point where that item was just another rag.
Unless your item came tailored to you with a monogram. It doesn't get much more personal than that. Maybe one day, someone from my family will hold on to the shirt I'm wearing in these photos, which bears my initials on each side of the collar, and feel a deep connection to it.
Photographed by Ian Rusiana
Madewell chambray shirt
AC for AG skirt
Whipping Post tote
MAC lipstick in Lady Danger
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