An ode to the clothes left behind

‘They are like relationships that never came into fruition, and sometimes the fact we left them can elate us, or can conjure up a version of ourselves that is manic and will have us pummeling through shop doors, with a crazed look in our eyes demanding to the nearest unfortunate shop assistant ‘where is it, where is it, the cerulean cashmere sweater that I left in here a minute ago ’ like Sauron desperately looking for the ring in Lord of the Rings’

There are often times in cinema where the main character is depicted having a sudden flashback taken from their past, usually in a position of vulnerability or one where they grapple with such unsettling feelings that means when they wake up, they have to use this as their main driving force going forward, becoming a crucial storyline of the film. Think Harry Potter when he is tucked up in bed in Hogwarts and all of a sudden he is in a graveyard with Voldemort, he then wakes up, sweating and confused. This happened to me the other day. Unfortunately, I wasn’t at Hogwarts and fortunately I wasn’t with Voldemort, but in a toilet cubicle at work. As I was leaving the cubicle, I had a vision of polka dots, the small kind. I thought I was in a haze, and was disorientated, but then realised, I was seeing the polka dots of a midi skirt past that I had left in a charity shop down the Kings Road. Due to leaving this skirt on a whim, toying with the idea of it in my closet, it had now taken it upon itself to haunt me, taunting me with the fact that I never purchased this what-could-have-been flashback in the work toilets.

Reflecting on this at my desk, I realised that there are a select number of items of clothing that have appeared randomly to me in dreams, moments of soiltude in work toilets and through extended gazes on tubes. All that these clothes had in common was the fact that they never were. They were all defined by the sense of longing and indecision I had leaving them in the shop. The clothes that we leave behind tell stories of their own. Whether it is because we have ten polar necks in that specific shade of orange already, or because we don’t want to commit parting our pounds on a pair of flares that could only see the living daylight at a very specific themed birthday parties like ‘dress as your grandma in the 70s during a second wave feminism march’, the decision to leave them can feel like make or break. They are like relationships that never came into fruition, and sometimes the fact we left them can elate us, or can conjure up a version of ourselves that is manic and will have us pummeling through shop doors, with a crazed look in our eyes demanding to the nearest unfortunate shop assistant ‘where is it, where is it, the cerulean cashmere sweater that I left in here a minute ago ’ like Sauron desperately looking for the ring in Lord of the Rings.

My peers share the same torture, caused by the garments that never made it past checkout. One story in particular stands out to me writing this. They had spotted a pair of vintage Vivienne Westwood Sex shoes in a charity shop in Notting Hill, but failed to take them home because they ‘would had to have worn them back on the Picadilly line’. My friend swore to never take the Picadilly line again afterwards (to be honest, her torment is entirely self inflicted because who would leave a sex shoe behind? just own the tube stares and get those bad boys home). The printed moschino culottes and the green leather military jacket , and the sequinned strappy J.Crewe vest and finally, the spotty midi skirt that never entered my life that could have been a compliment in a crowded room, a talking point at a party. Some treat clothes entering their wardrobe like the fockers welcoming in-laws into the circle of trust. People like to keep their collections personal to them, a capsule of all the clothing adventures they have taken across their life, and the ones that don’t make it hold just as much value as the ones that did. I have been there when people had to make that what could be life-altering decision to leave clothes that could be a staple in the wardrobe they pass on to their clothes. Over coffee after all they can ever talk about is how and where they could have worn the damn item, listing off events and kicking themselves for making such a poor decision.

Michael Jordan once said that ‘you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take’, an utterance that is often lamented by the average podcaster you find on your for you page these days, but folks, when it comes to your wardrobe, thus is true. Staring out of my window into my overgrown and dilapidated garden I am thinking about the flapper girl dress I passed up on once in 2019. Three years later and I am invited to a Gatsby themed (tremendously unniche) birthday party and I hurl insults to the sky, cursing my past self for ever leaving that what could have been party-defining outfit in the store. Don’t take this as gospel to overcrowd your closet with garments that you may never bat an eyelid at again, just think about how, if you are thinking about it three weeks later, having harry potter-esque flashbacks in your work toilet, there is a reason why.