This is Your Reminder: Life's Short, Wear What You Want
What are we "saving" these things for, anyway?
You can wash mud out of a cotton T-shirt, right? I reassured myself as dirty dollops flipped up off the trail and spattered onto my back. It was too late anyway, as my rented mountain bike splashed through even more icy black puddles. I was in college, just beginning to dabble in mountain biking, and didn’t own a bike jersey. I probably wouldn’t have worn one anyway. I had talked my friends into picking me up at the bottom of a shuttled ride—a ride that stands out in memory to this day not for the trail but because I ruined my most treasured article of clothing.
By the time I met my friends at the pickup point, my baby blue long-sleeved Billabong T-shirt featured a permanent new reverse skunk stripe up the back.
This scene flashed back to me recently when my friend Anya posted a story on Instagram saying: “If I like a shirt enough, it always becomes a climbing and biking T. Can’t help it.” For Anya (who is one of my style icons, btw—you may have seen some of her work as brand creative director for Mountain Hardwear), maybe she loved those sweet stripes—or maybe the perfect cut. Whatever it was, it felt so good that even though it probably wasn’t designed for mountain biking, it found its way onto the trail and probably to the crag, blurring the lines of everyday and technical clothing. Dirt, be damned.
That’s exactly what had happened to my beloved Billabong shirt back in college, and I feel the same way now—though the sentiment has taken on a new angle lately.
In the late ‘90s as a teenager in small-town Nebraska, surfing was about the coolest thing I could imagine. I obsessed over each Delia’s catalog I received in the mail and saved up my money to buy a long-sleeve Billabong T-shirt at the nearest mall, a 40 minute drive away. My summer job lifeguarding at the pool gave me a deep—possibly surfer-worthy—tan, but didn’t earn boatloads of cash. That baby blue cotton tee with the flowery logo probably set me back a quarter of my paycheck, which should have been saved for college. But wearing it changed the way I felt about myself. And I wore it a lot—even mountain biking, which led to its eventual demise.
Thinking about the clothes I’ve loved most, that have felt most like me—or maybe who I wanted or imagined myself to be—always brings up the conflict between wanting to keep something “nice” because I love it, and wanting to wear it every single day. Some pieces—like that precious Billabong shirt—have transcended the conundrum. Many haven’t yet. My current favorite hemp T-shirt: What if I spill something on it? Those red heels worthy of Italian cobblestones: They’ve barely ever left my closet. But what exactly am I “saving” them for?
Becoming a mom has added additional complexities to that question. My postpartum body keeps morphing, and most days I spend significant time sitting on the (usually dirty) floor or the ground, or cleaning up bodily fluids. Seems like a good time to just wear grubby clothes that I don’t care about getting dirty. Instead I’m finding that wearing things that feel like me feels more important than ever—no matter what I’m doing at the time or who will see me.
In the early weeks after giving birth when I still looked six months pregnant and couldn’t fit into any of my normal clothes, it was my favorite dangly earrings (see photo above) that took on an immense importance. I wore them daily like a talisman, even if I never left the house—and especially if I did, which was usually just taking the baby for a walk or hike. The earrings were a lifeline to my sense of self when the rising tide of new motherhood threatened to cover everything else.
Nearing the two-year mark, clothes still don’t fit the same—and in many ways I’m different inside, too. I’m not ripping down any epic mountain bike rides right now—I work from home in an office by myself and spend many weekly hours biking to and from childcare, chasing a toddler on a strider bike and dodging flying spoonfuls of chia pudding. As I evolve as a person, and in some ways stay the same, feeling at home and expressing myself in my clothes feels possibly more important than ever.
Mulling Anya’s post and reminiscing about that beloved Billabong has me rethinking what “nice clothes” means. And I’m realizing maybe I just like that one expensive tee (diesel grey hemp, perfectly long, boxy sleeves) too much not to wear it all the time. Dirt (and chia pudding) be damned.
I relate to all these sentiments so much. Thanks as always for your words Hilary!