Wardrobe Baggage Piles Up August 2024 Pre-Exodus

Today is August 9^th, 2024, I am surrounded by forest in the heart of Virginia. I have begun shedding the life I dragged from the beach. Hundreds of miles proved how much physically weighs me down. To be rid of an excess of clothes, fabrics, and projects, I need to let go of the emotional attachment. I don’t know where else to begin other than recount how I came to own so much bullshit.

Early Beginnings of Sewing and Wardrobe Fascination

My mother has had a costume collection which seemed to exist as long as I have been alive. I have early memories of the upstairs of the house I grew up in, which we generally weren’t allowed to go when I was young. There was a room with walls full of mirrors and workout equipment and in the closet is where she kept the costume collection. I developed a fascination with looking at them all lined up along the rack, like a little store. They were colorful and intricate, specific to their function they exuded a sense of whimsy and celebration. They were diverse in imagery though built for the same purpose of identity shifting. I would not have all these thoughts back then, but I would sneak up there and look at them on occasion.

The first memory I have of using my mother’s sewing machine was when I was very young, maybe nine or ten. I created a little purse-like bag to hold my Motorola phone which slid to reveal a keyboard. I don’t know whatever happened to it, it’s a truly lost project that I can barely remember. I know that it was this sewing machine which sparked my interest in fabric manipulation to begin with. The precision, efficiency, and shear power of the machine enchanted me.

The first alteration project I remember was the “little red riding hood” costume, which I mutilated and put back together like Frankenstein. It was very scary, horrifying Halloween attire. We moved to a nearby neighborhood during the summer when I was going into seventh grade, and I began recording videos of my projects and art. There is lost footage of this little red riding hood monstrosity. I sat on the tile in front of the bathroom sink and made an apparatus to suspend my ipod from the counter and recorded my crimes. I had bright purple nails, I remember this time being full of new things: new house, new school, and new friends. Though, I felt old and worn out by the age of 12.

Transition to Adulthood

My mother has always loved to shop, and she would often bring me bags of clothes to try on, as if she were my personal stylist. For most of my life, my wardrobe has consisted generously of things she bought and I decided to keep. A lot of these things remind me of her, thus they are difficult to let go of. I know this feeling of connection is due to our strained relationship rather than a real appreciation for the clothes.

At around 16, I became more interested in fashion, makeup, jewelry, and used these things to occupy me in my depression. I didn’t use a sewing machine for many years, but in the darkest part of my depression I found it and reignited the memory of that little phone bag. I was at my glass desk in the dank darkness of illness, and I was having fantasies of the seductive potentials of wardrobe. I altered some strange indigo corduroy skirt to hug me tight around the waist and accentuate the figure, all the while being reminiscent of a uniform. Created with the feverous techniques of a child, but less than the little red riding hood costume. And the rest is a series of bizarre alterations and projects from scratch. Various bags, pillows, and articles of clothing all culminate to the state of my life at 19, when I was surrounded by a world of my creation. My first boyfriend would always remark on the clothes I was wearing around this time when we met. I guess the style I was trying to emulate was very impressionable.

My grandmother gave me many things throughout the last few years of her life, and I inherited many more when she died in 2022. She gave me several dresses, which I will keep. A few I left in their original condition, others I cut up and put back together in childish ways as a teenager. Naturally, I’ve held onto things that should have immediately been thrown away such as her panty hose, under dresses, nightgowns, etc. I believe I can let a lot of this go now.

All my fanciful wardrobe creations seem to end during quarantine of 2020-21. I stopped going out again, and without the prospect of being seen, it became unimportant. I began wearing my boyfriend’s shirts and hoodies, I let go of all responsibilities and eventually dropped out of university, which I spent years to get into. It seemed like I regressed into the deep depression of my teen years, fully withdrawn from real life and detached from my own sensibilities. There was a brief period in the sun from 17 to 19, but then back to the dark for my early 20’s. I have basically stayed in this stagnant state for the last four years. Sometimes I feel like I knew more about moving forward when I was younger. I still ended up in the same position, so whatever I knew back then didn’t work long-term. I guess when you’re younger, you worry less about the outcomes of your decisions since they’ll be watered down by time soon enough. Really, I make better choices now because I’m more experienced. One of those choices is to get rid of as much baggage as I can.