Capsule Wardrobe Recap and Irreplaceable Items

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While my pajama and gym capsules haven’t really changed much recently (I just replaced a few items), my OOTH wardrobe has been whittled down a bit. I’m down to five T-shirts, which is a bit shocking for me, but I try to remind myself that I have lot of other tops to wear. Two silky camis, two ponte-knit swing tops, and four silky blouses are just gathering dust. Add to that a mind-boggling 11 sweaters, and it’s clear I have plenty of options.

When I completed the Wardrobe Overhaul recently, I ended up with 54 items in total, and then soon after, a 55th item (some men’s black pants) rounded it off. Those pants are already gone, along with 4 other pairs of pants, as well as my corduroy shirt and white flouncy top. Five T-shirts were re-allocated to pajamas, and that’s put me down to 43 items for out-of-the-house.

As I said, I have plenty of tops and sweaters, but only two pairs of wide leg pants, two pairs of joggers, and two pairs of shorts. The weird thing is, I also have three skirts. What, you may ask, am I doing with all these silky blouses and skirts? I guess the same thing I’m doing with five pairs of heels. Not much. On the rare occasion that I do actually dress up, I tend to wear flat shoes, pants, and just one of the silky tops.

I could clearly cut back, but it just isn’t that simple. Two of these blouses are identical—long-sleeve blouson styles—one in black and one in navy. They’re old finds from a trip to Portland, OR, when I was killing time at a Nordstrom Rack, and they are absolutely irreplaceable. They are extremely flattering on me, simple and elegant, and they never look dated. I’ve never seen anything like them, except for other tops from the same brand, Vince Camuto. But even those that I’ve spotted just aren’t as good. The way the fabric on these drapes and crosses over in front perfectly covers my pudgy belly, and the long balloon sleeves end in delicate, single-button cuffs. They are clearly too big at this point in my weight-loss “journey,” but I will never declutter them.

This reminds me of a dress I had about ten years ago that was from LOFT. It was a simple, black, jersey dress with a blouson-style silhouette. It looked amazing on me—like better than anything else, ever. Blouson tops and dresses rest on the hips (not the waist), which are my thinnest part. I know people say wrap dresses are universally flattering because they bring attention to your smallest part—your upper waist—but they are wrong. I simply look pregnant in those dresses. Blouson dresses are far better for my “apple” shape, and there is no denying it.

But they are few and far between. I remember searching endlessly for a blouson top or dress to wear for my wedding, but to no avail. I ended up having a blouson top custom-made, and wore it with a long, antique slip-skirt. There was just nothing out there in the right style, and certainly not in plus-size.

Anyway, I regret getting rid of that black blouson dress because I’ve never seen anything quite like it again. When I decluttered it, I thought, “there’ll be other dresses out there.” But there aren’t. It’s difficult to find anything described as “blouson,” and even harder to try and figure out what else to call this style.

But I was scrolling on Thredup the other day when I discovered something about their filter for “dress style.” One of the options was “drop-waist,” and apparently that is how they categorize any blouson dresses that come their way. Now some of these are just drop-waist, like a child’s dress would be, and even more of them are a blouson style where the fitted part sits at the waist. But as I scrolled though all 2,700 drop-waist dresses, I could see that there were a select few where the fitted “waistband” would sit on the hips instead.

I obsessively started marking each one with a heart, deliberating over each one and analyzing them for red flags. I’ve often been burned by a dress that looks like the waist would reach my hips, but then doesn’t fall quite low enough.

You may recall from other blogs of mine that I decided that I hate dresses, and for the most part, I still do. But if I found a blouson style that fit me correctly, I’d change my mind immediately. A blouson dress wouldn’t make me look pregnant, and wouldn’t make me look like a tomato on a stick—another frequent occurrence when I try on dresses. It would be “slimming” and “flattering”—those qualities I’m always looking for in clothing no matter how many feminist ideals I subscribe to. I don’t want to wear ruffles or bows because it seems infantilizing, and I always feel more empowered in pants and boots rather than a skirt. But this endless search for clothes that make me look thinner than I am draws on deep waters. This is something ingrained in me from a young age, from when I first read about apple and pear shapes in Teen Magazine. So I’m hanging onto these drapey, blouson-style blouses for good.

I’m feeling a similar sort of “scarcity mentality” when it comes to my wide-leg pants. Even as wide-leg pants have come back in style quite recently, I hang onto the memory of buying these pareicular pants. I ordered them a few years ago from the J. Crew website; they were on sale and they were being discontinued. Cropped, wide leg culottes were everywhere, but true, long, wide-leg trousers just weren’t a thing. So while they may be here for now— I see them on Instagram all the time—I just don’t trust that they’ll stick around forever.

And these two pairs of wide-leg pants are irreplaceable. They are a heavyweight cotton chino that are extremely wide and have a high rise. They look like something I’ve seen only in Japanese Pinterest photos posted by young design students. So even though they’re starting to slide down, and even though I can take them on and off without unbuttoning or unzipping them, I have no intention of getting rid of them.

I guess I do have a bit of a hoarding tendency when it comes to clothes, despite my minimalist intentions. Even if there comes a time when I need new clothes in new sizes, I have a feeling I’ll simply store these away—just in case. That’s not usually a phrase you find me saying— I love getting rid of stuff even more than buying it. But somehow this is different. I can’t make my own clothes (believe me, I’ve tried), and the turning tides of fashion just can’t be predicted. So I’ll continue buying multiples of those perfect things I find— those utterly random valuables that can come from anywhere, from Old Navy to Vince to designer secondhand sites. You never know when one of those irreplaceable items will show itself, so when you find one, hang on tight.