“White pants?” my acquaintance exclaimed in disgust, as I triumphantly held up a pair among a sea of blue denim.”Why on earth would you want to buy white pants?”
But no amount of protesting could change my mind. I had already mentally handed over my card to the sickly sweet shop assistant and planned how I’d wear them: with an equally crisp white shirt, a semi-sheer tee, or perhaps a slouchy navy sweater? The opportunities were endless.
“I just feel like you’re going to look back at a photo of yourself and regret them,” my friend continued, without prompt.
While I chose to ignore the warning as I plummeted deeper into an alabaster daze, I couldn’t help but linger on that one word: regret. A feeling the common clothes horse knows all too well, particularly those who have been excessively gluttonous with fickle trends.
Regret manifests itself at any given chance, like when you’re happily taking a trip down memory lane, flicking through old photos when BAM! There you are in a mesh-sleeved, black velvet body con dress with a denim vest and a pair of cherry Doc Martens you’d rather forget. “What was I thinking?” you ask yourself. “Is that me underneath all that black eyeliner, hair and teen angst?”
If I look at the purchases I’ve made over the past few years, I wouldn’t say I’ve been overly indulgent in trends. But I’d be kidding myself if into thinking I’d steered clear of them altogether. A few crop tops here, wedge trainers there; pieces that probably won’t stand the test of time but each tell a story of how and why they came to belong in my wardrobe.
And isn’t that just it? While I may not love a trend-driven item of clothing for eternity, I can look back and reflect on the external influences that made me choose that particular garment: a cultural movement, an influential person, the economic climate, etc.