It took me more than a decade to get rid of professional clothes I owned for a career I lost to disabling chronic illness. That wardrobe wouldn’t have suited me had I been able to return to my work (for many reasons), yet I couldn’t let go off those items because they came to represent my hope that I would recover enough to need them again. When I finally let go, it was at a time when I finally started to practice some measure of acceptance of my life now. It’s not what I planned or wanted, but it is what it is.
Recently I emptied all of the business attire from my closet as well. Once Americans with Disabilities Act restructured my work life, there is no returning to the physical office. The business clothes are now in my living room, over 40 pounds of conservative, designer dress wear, waiting to send to cleaners and donate to an organization that provides free clothes for economically challenged women attempting to enter the workforce. I am relieved in my decision to let go. What keeps me from mourning the clothes terribly much lies in my choice to give them to women in need, but yes, there were initial pangs of grief. It took me two years to do it.
For me a lot of the grief is more personal than professional, though professional is a part of it.
I've recently been undergoing my biggest wardrobe shift since graduating college. My figure has changed and I am still in the process of coming to terms with it. I had a closet full of unique handmade garments in brilliant colors that were fitted to my body. I had outfits I felt so good in I didn't want to take them off when I got home. Now I have a set of purchased clothes that cover me enough I can go out in public.
What I am mourning is death of possibility. When I was able to wear clothes that reflected my style I (foolishly, perhaps?) believed that they were a part of what would make me attractive. As I stitched a new dress or set a waistband I would imagine wearing the garment on a date with someone who would eventually, finally, accept my odd, quirky, bright style as a part of the me he wanted to get to know, hang out with, and commit to. That never happened. As I cull the sweetness from my closet I am also laying to rest dreams that will never be. I never met the man for whom quirky handmade was a valuable asset. No-one was ever tempted by my retro prints or precise pintucks to get to know me better. I never had the opportunity to turn my stitching skills towards a layette or overalls for a toddler.
It's too late now, and whatever style I find next won't reflect that excited anxious waiting that is a blessing and torture of being young. It's ok, I'll find something else. But there will still be clothes I'm sad I can't wear.
I can feel the grief. It's as though your clothes were what made you interesting or worthy and now that they're gone, you are no longer those things. I'll be honest and vulnerable and say that my body and its appeal to men was that thing for me and as that's changed, I've had to grieve that and also look at why I thought that was one of the most worthy things about me. Of course, we were and are both worthy without those external shells.
I think you may have said somewhere in another comment that you are too busy or don't have the bandwidth, but do you think about recreating/sewing some of those clothes for this body?
Yes! I am working on it. I have invested in some great courses in patternmaking to help get me over the hump of comparing my current measurements to pattern "standards". It's mostly a matter of time and concentration. I don't have much doubt that I'll eventually have a lot of wonderful handmade stuff for my current stage in life. I just need to get over the hump of transition.
Something that I think sometimes complicates grief is that, as you mentioned, I recognize that some of the things I am sad about are cultural indoctrination that I don't logically agree with. Of course people, including women, are valuable and loveable at any age! But culturally we still see a huge difference in perceived attractiveness between women who appear "young" and those who are "older" (whatever those things mean). It feels as if there's not much overt teaching about how to navigate this transition, only judgement if you do it wrong. For instance, I love some cottage core looks, but I'm very aware that on me they will look like Farmhouse Kitchen Grandma looks. Which is ok, nothing wrong with that, but it's also a totally different vibe, if you see what I mean.
yes, transitions are the worst. I'm glad you'll have stuff you love soon. And absolutely there is no guide or even warning, I feel, about the shift that happens once you're perceived as older. This comment makes me think of this TikTok creator, she really leans into the farmhouse kitchen grandma vibe and I find her so soothing and reassuring. And also, were she younger, her vintage hair and clothes would present very differently. https://www.tiktok.com/@shifferdiane/video/7230755448511565099
I retired early-ish several years ago, and a lot of my business clothes are still in the closet. I had this sense that if I got rid of them, I'd be getting rid of my identity as a young, productive person. I'm not young, so that part's true. I do volunteer work, but I still feel like a bad person for not going to work, bringing home money, and participating in the economy. I have slowly gotten to the point where I can see that the clothes are not part of my real life and I should donate them.
It took me more than a decade to get rid of professional clothes I owned for a career I lost to disabling chronic illness. That wardrobe wouldn’t have suited me had I been able to return to my work (for many reasons), yet I couldn’t let go off those items because they came to represent my hope that I would recover enough to need them again. When I finally let go, it was at a time when I finally started to practice some measure of acceptance of my life now. It’s not what I planned or wanted, but it is what it is.
It makes so much sense that the clothes would represent all of that. I'm glad you were able to let go and start that process of acceptance.
Recently I emptied all of the business attire from my closet as well. Once Americans with Disabilities Act restructured my work life, there is no returning to the physical office. The business clothes are now in my living room, over 40 pounds of conservative, designer dress wear, waiting to send to cleaners and donate to an organization that provides free clothes for economically challenged women attempting to enter the workforce. I am relieved in my decision to let go. What keeps me from mourning the clothes terribly much lies in my choice to give them to women in need, but yes, there were initial pangs of grief. It took me two years to do it.
It does help when you picture the clothes being used. I used to volunteer with Dress for Success and they will make great use of them.
So much solidarity.
For me a lot of the grief is more personal than professional, though professional is a part of it.
I've recently been undergoing my biggest wardrobe shift since graduating college. My figure has changed and I am still in the process of coming to terms with it. I had a closet full of unique handmade garments in brilliant colors that were fitted to my body. I had outfits I felt so good in I didn't want to take them off when I got home. Now I have a set of purchased clothes that cover me enough I can go out in public.
What I am mourning is death of possibility. When I was able to wear clothes that reflected my style I (foolishly, perhaps?) believed that they were a part of what would make me attractive. As I stitched a new dress or set a waistband I would imagine wearing the garment on a date with someone who would eventually, finally, accept my odd, quirky, bright style as a part of the me he wanted to get to know, hang out with, and commit to. That never happened. As I cull the sweetness from my closet I am also laying to rest dreams that will never be. I never met the man for whom quirky handmade was a valuable asset. No-one was ever tempted by my retro prints or precise pintucks to get to know me better. I never had the opportunity to turn my stitching skills towards a layette or overalls for a toddler.
It's too late now, and whatever style I find next won't reflect that excited anxious waiting that is a blessing and torture of being young. It's ok, I'll find something else. But there will still be clothes I'm sad I can't wear.
I can feel the grief. It's as though your clothes were what made you interesting or worthy and now that they're gone, you are no longer those things. I'll be honest and vulnerable and say that my body and its appeal to men was that thing for me and as that's changed, I've had to grieve that and also look at why I thought that was one of the most worthy things about me. Of course, we were and are both worthy without those external shells.
I think you may have said somewhere in another comment that you are too busy or don't have the bandwidth, but do you think about recreating/sewing some of those clothes for this body?
Yes! I am working on it. I have invested in some great courses in patternmaking to help get me over the hump of comparing my current measurements to pattern "standards". It's mostly a matter of time and concentration. I don't have much doubt that I'll eventually have a lot of wonderful handmade stuff for my current stage in life. I just need to get over the hump of transition.
Something that I think sometimes complicates grief is that, as you mentioned, I recognize that some of the things I am sad about are cultural indoctrination that I don't logically agree with. Of course people, including women, are valuable and loveable at any age! But culturally we still see a huge difference in perceived attractiveness between women who appear "young" and those who are "older" (whatever those things mean). It feels as if there's not much overt teaching about how to navigate this transition, only judgement if you do it wrong. For instance, I love some cottage core looks, but I'm very aware that on me they will look like Farmhouse Kitchen Grandma looks. Which is ok, nothing wrong with that, but it's also a totally different vibe, if you see what I mean.
yes, transitions are the worst. I'm glad you'll have stuff you love soon. And absolutely there is no guide or even warning, I feel, about the shift that happens once you're perceived as older. This comment makes me think of this TikTok creator, she really leans into the farmhouse kitchen grandma vibe and I find her so soothing and reassuring. And also, were she younger, her vintage hair and clothes would present very differently. https://www.tiktok.com/@shifferdiane/video/7230755448511565099
thank you for the link, I love her!
For some reason I wish we could enjoy a pot of tea together.
How did you know I love tea? :)
Your prose is so beautiful that I just knew. I hope you're having a lovely day.
how kind! thank you. Perhaps the stars will align someday and we can share a pot of tea together. I hope you are having a lovely day too.
I retired early-ish several years ago, and a lot of my business clothes are still in the closet. I had this sense that if I got rid of them, I'd be getting rid of my identity as a young, productive person. I'm not young, so that part's true. I do volunteer work, but I still feel like a bad person for not going to work, bringing home money, and participating in the economy. I have slowly gotten to the point where I can see that the clothes are not part of my real life and I should donate them.
It makes me so sad that our society conditions us to feel as though we're not worthy unless we're productive. You ARE a good person!