An email I quite regularly receive from readers is about capsule wardrobes. Although they don’t call it that, they usually just go WHAT THE FCUKK AM I SUPPOSED TO WEAR?!?!?!!? in the subject line and then say something like “I wan this emerald green jumpsuit and patent leather boots but I dhitnk I won’t wear them?!?!! Esther HELOP!”
They invariably reveal that they have two children under 5 and have slightly lost their way when it comes to getting dressed. The emails most often come in at around 9.20pm.
I am sympathetic. The armfuls of inappropriate shite that I bought when I was pregnant or my kids were really small, (because they’re still little), beggars belief.
I skipped over that stage where you get yourself white t-shirts and comfy jeans and smart/casual shoes and went straight to Chelsea slapper via crazed Instagram fashion person – and never had anything to wear.
But then I really thought hard about it and packed loads of shit away and started all over again. No pattern, not much colour. Simple things. Just normal stuff I could put on and feel okay about.
That, I suppose, it what a capsule wardrobe is. There are many shops who will try to sell you a capsule wardrobe – “Buy better, buy less [but first buy this, yeah]?” – but I look at these Seven Easy Pieces or whatever and think “That is too floaty, that looks dry clean only to me, that hem will get caught in the car door. Next!”
I have written before about essential wardrobe pieces – sorry, “pieces” – but I think I may have kind of thrown the subject away. So ALL next week, I am devoting The Spike and my Instagram (@esthermcoren) to the subject of the capsule wardrobe.
Not that I don’t love receiving those emails! Keep them coming. I also kind of get a thrill out of the idea of creating this, like, army of Spike clones.