Closet Keeping, Part Two

Here are three of the items from my wardrobe that I decided to keep even though I don't actively wear them:

 

        Wool Skirt (Circa 1960s, worn early 1990s). If I could manage to squeeze myself into this skirt without removing internal organs, it would still be one of the favorite pieces in my wardrobe. It represents not only my junior high school years, but also my first experience trying out my mother’s fabulous collection of clothing. I have been told that my mom and aunt (aka the Strother Girls) were quite the head turners in their youth and wore some great self-made and department store clothes. This skirt was my first find from “shopping the attic,” which quickly became a yearly fall ritual. Vintage wasn’t cool yet, but I didn’t care. I loved the swish of the heavy wool and the way the orange yarns stood out among the mélange of black, grey and cream. The fabric was decidedly itchy, but I just made sure I wore it with good black tights and a smooth camisole under my sweater.  It was my go-to skirt for dress up days before band performances and I once wore it to present my science fair project to the judging panel.

         Cotton Shift Dress (early 1990s-mid 2000s). This dress dominated my summer wardrobe for over a decade. There was a time when if you sniffed it, even freshly washed, you could smell beachy air and sunscreen. It was a random, inexpensive find – my mother and I were buying supplies for our annual beach trip and its colorful and unique pattern caught my attention. I had a love affair with brown since it worked well with my reddish hair and freckles, so I paired the dress with any number of brown and tan sandals and light sweaters. Mostly, I wore it barefoot and over a bikini – lounging on large, flat river rocks, strolling along the beach, hanging out on a boat or reading in a porch swing. Once, when I was packing up an apartment in 90 degree heat, a friend commented that she couldn’t believe I was wearing a dress while moving furniture and I laughed since it felt more like second summer skin than something to wear to a barbeque. Eventually, the zipper broke and I discovered it cost far, far more to repair than the original purchase price.

           Velveteen Jacket (2000s). I fell in love with this jacket the moment I saw it hanging in a boutique on the Getreidegasse in Salzburg, Austria.  It embodied all of the things I love about European fashion: luxe fabric, sophisticated detail, incredible fit. I feel like in the United States, you often have to shop at a much higher price point to find the same qualities in clothing. The jacket has an edgy quality that was certainly aspirational when I first bought it, but soon became familiar as I wore it out to impossibly chic clubs and galleries in Spain, Italy, Germany, the UK, Netherlands and New York. I think my confidence in wearing it helped me take more chances in terms of experimenting beyond my usual style. I used to put the jacket over some of my other European finds – a bronze leather mini skirt, slim grey cigarette pants, or jeans with a perfect cut. It makes me think of young, fun times hopping trains, sitting in cafes, navigating cobblestone streets and looking at great art.