A fashionista friend of mine came around today for a catch up and I took her on a nineties to noughties journey through my bags of throw-out clothes.
I now feel so much better about relegating these clothes to the throw-out pile as she exclaimed her disgust over many of the things I was hanging on to from the late 90s. There is no way I’m going to be wearing those teeny midriff baring tops anymore. So many of the clothes in those four shopping bags are part of the old me.
I like to think that the ‘new me’ has more style. However I also think style is something that you gain with age and increased disposable income. My selections are infinitely better now than they were as a tarty little 19-year-old for whom short skirts, short tops and tight clothes on an even tighter budget were the order of the day. They are also better than those of the 25-year-old me who after returning from a year of travel was trying to get a professional wardrobe together whilst holding on to the last vestiges of her early 20s style.
Even in the past twelve months, my style has evolved further. I’m discovering skinny leg jeans with sneakers and cute tees (I think I’m trying to get this phase in before I get too old to pull it off). I’m also building on my fabulous frocks with some standouts that I’m convinced will be classics.
So with my friend opening my eyes to the horrors that were, I am now free of the little hoarder in me who says “you might want to wear it again” because NO, I won’t.