I have my mother to thank for the fact that I have an emotional attachment to my clothes. Mum has a stash of garments and accessories in the attic, spanning decades from the 60s onwards. If a trend had passed but she still loved a wool skirt or a pair of boots, she’d pack them away until such a time as she wanted to wear them again. In my teens, Mum would often announce that she had exactly the vintage item I was looking for in her treasure trove, though sadly it was often a pair of shoes, and we don’t have the same size feet.
Nonetheless, it instilled in me the idea that when you love your clothes, you should keep them and care for them. Clothing serves more of a purpose than just covering our bodies; it is full of the memories it has experienced with us. I too have a box of sentimental clothes in my own loft, from the vintage towelling T-shirt I wore to see Blur play at London’s Mile End stadium in 1995, to my purple Converse All Stars that I got for my 13th birthday. They don’t fit me any more, but they’re far too special to throw away.
