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An abstract map of my adventures

I find it hard saying goodbye to clothes. After all, you take a journey together. From box-fresh pride, through multiple washes and cleans (that never quite reproduce the original veneer) to eventual abandonment. At one time, every piece I bought, was my favourite thing. Fleetingly, they each had their moment – by virtue of being newfangled, or topical or simply unspoiled. Everything was once my favourite – my go-to piece for a night out. Some had a longer tenure at the top table than others. Some lasted little more than a single, disappointingly uncomfortable wear. But all, had their moment. All brought me joy. But now it’s time to say goodbye.

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These clothes carry an abstract map of my adventures. Nicks, tears, scuffs and abrasions of all sorts have gnawed their mark. I remember the beach that coughed sand into those sneakers. I remember the door handle that snagged and tore that belt loop. I remember when things shrunk a little too much. I remember the sound of three pairs of identical white trainers banging around the washing machine. I remember the warm days I tried to dry them outside. And I remember feeling downcast, realising they’d gone a bit yellow.

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These clothes did what they were supposed to do. For a time, they made me feel great. They made me feel that I looked okay. They made me feel proud and confident and happy. But as is the curse of the clothesman, they need to make way for the new. I need to bid them and this personal record of my history goodbye. And it’s sad. For as much as I left my mark on them, they also left their mark on me.

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