There’s an
aspect to minimalism I think doesn’t always sit easy with people committed to
simplicity – the whole business of cutting your losses.
Say I’m looking
for a jacket.
It must be the
right weight. If it’s for occasions like officiating at funerals, preaching and
public speaking, I’ll probably choose something less warm than I otherwise
might, because public buildings are usually overheated and I find it harder to
deal with being hot than cold.
It has to fit –
and that includes being long enough to cover my derrière; because if, wearing
trousers, I have to process in past people or go up to the sanctuary to fetch
an offering plate, it’s always the rear view that takes people’s mind off the
occasion and refocuses them onto contemplating the lamentable error of my
sartorial choices. So why not wear a
skirt? Because then I either have to own two jackets (as shorter jackets suit
skirts and longer will suit trousers) or
wear skirts all the time – then you get into tights and slips and the
complications of shoes that don’t look tragic with skirts but are still good
for walking, etc., etc..
It has to be
black, as it’ll be worn at formal occasions including funerals.
And – now this
is the spanner in the works – it has to be cheap. The way to get high quality
clothes for very little money is to buy at auction from private sellers on
eBay. And generally speaking private sellers don’t accept returns.
I ask for
measurements and scrutinize photos. I stick to brands I know, because they are
made for different imaginary women. For example, Per Una clothes are designed for women with short backs and small
frames, so the larger sizes are for plump, busty women with short backs and
small frames – but thin arms. More your Italian type of woman. I need clothes
made for another kind of woman altogether – with broad shoulders, a long back,
long arms, and altogether hefty. More your Germanic type of woman. So I don’t
buy Per Una.
I make sure to
buy in stretchy fabrics because woven (rather than knit) fabrics feel like straitjackets
to me. And I don’t want to do any ironing. As in ‘ever’.
Even with all
this thought and caution, the purchase often doesn’t work out. What might seem
an obvious preferable alternative would be to save up for a high quality shop
purchase so I could return it. Except that it usually takes me 2 or 3 months
and several times of wearing a garment before I reluctantly conclude I don’t
like it. So an expensive purchase would simply mean a bigger mistake.
It’s important
to me to like my clothes. In my jacket I’ll be on public display, but not at an
event which is about me (if you see what I mean). My work isn’t like a TV
presenter or actor – it points beyond myself; I need to be effaced, and
concentrating entirely on something else. I need to be able to forget myself
utterly when I’m preaching, or leading a quiet day or a funeral. I’ve watched
preachers who aren’t easy in their clothes, tugging at this and tweaking at
that, watched them readjust in alarm as their bra straps emerge from their too-generous
necklines – no no no; that’s not for me.
So if I take
hours of care and thought and select a second-hand high quality jacket and it
arrives and I think it’ll do fine, and I wear it a time or two but have to
conclude it makes me look lumpy and frumpy and I feel miserable in it – then
what?
Two options;
soldier on or try again. If I try again – ie buy a different jacket – this is
the point where the minimalism/simplicity conflict kicks in.
Simplicity is
humble and lowly, thrifty and responsibly and not wasteful. Simplicity is satisfied with what it has and doesn’t
throw things away.
Minimalism runs
a tight ship and travels light, so throws things away very readily.
In my
particular case, I’ve opted more for the minimalism. If something doesn’t work
out, I pass it on. It goes to a charity shop and earns them good money. I have noticed that with a minimalist
wardrobe, what I like and what works becomes clearer to me. If I don’t have
loads of clothes, I don’t get confused about what’s going on. The garments that
aren’t working stand out very quickly.
If I have loads of clothes and none of them are all that great, I don’t
easily notice what doesn’t work because I don’t feel all that good in any of
them.
And other
questions begin to emerge. For example, I keep one skirt (that I don’t
especially like but it’s the best quality/style/weight/fit/length I could find)
to wear on formal occasions when a skirt is expected. But I now find myself
asking, why is it expected? Do I even
want to be at occasions where dressing
in skirts is more important than being the person I am? Do I really want to
spend time at events where style outweighs substance? Where what I can offer is
outweighed by what I’m wearing? Probably not.
But I don’t
think those questions would ever have come up for me if I hadn’t been aiming
for a minimalist wardrobe – I’d just have a pile of skirts and trousers and
dresses and not stopped to ask myself, ‘why have I got this garment at all?’
And the thing is, once the minimalism has helped me identify the styles and fabrics and colours I really want to wear, then the simplicity comes into its own – because at that point I need make fewer and fewer purchases. I’m happy with what I have.