T-shirts and food and minimalism

 Having a keen interest in minimalism — especially the nomadic one-bag variety — and living simply, I watch a lot of YouTube videos on the topic.

In general I prefer the men's channels, because I find the ladies' ones can be a bit wafty and aesthetic; rather more Instagram than the vibe of my own life. I am more the pragmatic type. "My minimalist wardrobe for Spring" isn't really the focus of my interest.

And the men (especially the nomadic one-bag people) generally own about 3 t-shirts. 

I understand the 3Ws principle: one to Wear, one in the Wardrobe and one in the Wash, it's what people always used to do before consumerism ran over us like a Bedford truck and squashed our lives flat.

I'm good with underwear, I can do the 3Ws principle with that. Coats are easy — I have two warm fleece gilets. Trousers are easy. I have one skirt for the odd occasions when I go to the Orthodox church or visit the Hutterites, so I don't give offence wearing the wrong thing. I have way more socks than I should because our Alice is a knitter, so my socks are handcrafted marvels of creation. I have kept every pair she ever knitted me, and I darn them when they go into holes. For the same reason I have two winter hats where I really need only one.

But I have a problem with t-shirts. It could easily be solved by remembering to wear an apron. 

Cooking generates a certain amount of tallow splash in our house and, as you no doubt know, an oil stain is the Worst Thing to get out of laundry. So my clothes in general drift towards a sort of hobo aesthetic. 

Not only that, I am a terror for dropping food on my clothes. I tend to sit sideways to the table because I like space in front of me and around me, and I'm usually chatting to Tony while we eat (living with me is like having Radio 4 turned on), so I'm not properly looking what I'm doing. And I can almost guarantee that the very first time I put on a new t-shirt, it'll have a dollop of fried zucchini dropped right there in the mid-boob territory before the end of lunch.

So I have to wash my t-shirts quite a lot. And on the rare occasions when I'm going out somewhere, I might have to change my top more than once a day.

Also, I have five pairs of trousers — 2 black, 1 navy, 1 khaki, 1 cream. I hardly ever wear the cream ones because a splot of stew dropped on those would be The End. I might as well get rid of them but they are comfy and I like them. The navy pair is very warm, so only for winter really. One of the black pairs I try to keep for best (like going to church or to a concert) so they are Oil Free. That means for everyday I alternate the khaki and the other black ones. Already that's not very minimalist is it? Not what a one-bag nomad would do at all! 

But the thing is, I like black t-shirts because they don't show the dirt too badly, but I think a black top and black trousers is all right for Steve Jobs or whoever, but on an elderly lady it just looks like the knell of doom ("Going to a funeral?").

So I need about twice as many t-shirts as I should need if I were a one-bag minimalist who isn't an elderly lady and doesn't drop his lunch on his clothing.

Not only that, but I really do need to lose a bit of weight. All this chronic illness has led to a more sedentary life than I used to have, which has made me about ten years older than I ought to be, if you see what I mean, so life has accumulated in waves of flab around the torso. In consequence I have 3 more black t-shirts waiting in wistful hope that I actually will fit into them one day, but not quite as eye-catchingly as at present. I think it will happen. I am making steady progress with my health, things will improve. But in the meantime it has added a you-never-know subsidiary stack to the stash of t-shirts.

If I were a nomad, I'd have to be a two-bag variety — one for almost everything and a second one for t-shirts and socks. Those one-bag men must be very tidy eaters.