The politics of clothes and their sizes

I like clothes. Unfortunately, clothes don’t always like me.

Sometimes I won’t wear something for a while and when I put it back on it’s changed: it makes me look chunky, or it’s suffering from a well-documented condition known as wardrobe shrinkage – when an item is left unworn for too long and the fibre shrivels so that it no longer fits.

These are generally clothes of the glad-rag variety, special occasion wear that gets an outing every couple of years.

It happens to shoes too: they get higher if you fall out of the habit of wearing them, so much so that I now need a stepladder to climb into my Stella McCartney heels.

What is a woman to do with all these beautiful fripperies collected over the years, these barely worn items with labels, darling, labels.

I’ve kept things forever, reasoning that maybe one of my sons would meet a tall girl in size seven shoes. Instead, they shacked up with elves and now it’s time to face facts: these aren’t going to be worn in this house again.

 So I arrange to take them to a second-hand designer consignment boutique, my little black Moschino dress still sporting its dry-cleaning ticket, my Stellas still in their box.

They’ll fall on these with relish, I think. The owner flicks through my hangers and peers into my shoe boxes, then folds her hands across her lap, looking at me kindly.

Your pieces are lovely, she tells me, however “they’re not vintage and they’re not in style. Shapes have changed.” “They’re dated?”

I suggest. She nods. She’ll be taking none of them. It’s weird how personal it feels, like she’s talking about me: not vintage, not in style, and the shape has definitely changed.

She suggests two more “pre loved, gently used” shops, where again I am met with sweet, practised pity. It must happen an awful lot. However, one suggests a charity store specialising in upmarket clothes, so I donate them there and they’re delighted.

Yes, I mourn my clothes, thinking maybe if I just lost weight, or changed shape, or changed life we could’ve worked together, but I guess I was thinking that all along, and mourning a version of me that was younger, sleeker. Dated. And now there’s space in my wardrobe and I know a great charity shop.

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