The Morality of Style

My mother was forty years old when I was born. For much of my life, she has felt more like a grandmother than a mother. A couple of my older sisters were more in the emotional role of mother for me during my growing up years. This is common with families that have so many children—the older girls are often required to become mothers when they are children themselves.

But my mother did have control of a lot of my life, including the purchase of clothing. My father seemed to think that it was ridiculous to spend actual money on clothing children, so there was never any budget for these items. That, combined with her growing up in the midst of the Depression on a farm in rural southern Idaho, meant that she never threw anything away. And when I say anything, I mean literally anything.

She could not throw food away, even if it was moldly or was dangerously contaminated. She also could not allow us to throw away (or even give away) clothing. During most of my growing up years, we would get garbage bags full of used clothing dropped off on the doorstep regularly and she would insist on us using all of it—even used, stained underwear. She rarely bought new clothing for herself, either. And she used out everything she owned. Her own underwear wasn’t thrown away until it had spent at least a year cut up as rags to clean with.

These days, we as adult children often have to offer to take food (with expressions of delight) from her that needs to be thrown away so she won’t make herself or anyone else sick. I have started to congratulate myself on being able to throw away milk at the end of a gallon instead of figuring out one of the many “sour milk” recipes that my mother has stored away to use it up and make sure not a calorie goes to waste.

Recently, a radical idea occurred to me: perhaps it is not a sin to only wear an article of clothing a few times before giving it away because it no longer suits you. For most of my life, I have felt burdened with the weight of demanding that I cannot buy a new piece of clothing unless there is nothing else in my closet that would fit that niche. I also cannot discard clothing if I purchased it new unless I have worn it at least a hundred times. And if I don’t like it anymore, it has to stay in my closet (usually in the back) until I can convince myself that really it doesn’t fit me anymore and I literally can’t use it.

Part of this revelation came about as a result of the divorce, part of it as a result of my religious disaffiliation. When I was no longer attending church, I realized that almost half of my wardrobe, and 99% of my clothing in my closet on hangers, was church-related. And those things were not, as I had always told myself, easily usable as a work wardrobe. They weren’t suitable for events as an author, nor for working in office in my current job.

I threw out almost all my clothing when I moved from the marital home into my tiny apartment. There were some items that I was sad about losing, but not many. I would show people the very small closet I now had—only about ten items. And they would say, “where are all your clothes?” They were left behind in the divorce.

I’ve started to rebuild my wardrobe of late. I felt ridiculous about spending over a thousand dollars on wool cardigans from Scotland. I love them. I wear one of these five sweaters every single day. On top of shirts that will need to be replaced. Doing math on the calculation that I will wear these sweaters for the next twenty years, it turns out that they actually only cost about ten cents per day. Which is a bargain for me, even if my mother would not agree.

But there are plenty of other items in my closet which I have been trying to convince myself not to feel guilty about recycling. Some were purchases that I made impulsively. Others were items I purchased for a specific reason and I don’t want to keep on the off-chance they might be useful again later. Some are items I no longer fit into and I don’t want to keep if I happen to lose weight. And there is no moral obligation for me to keep clothing for any reason that I simply do not want to wear anymore.

For most of my life, I purchased items mostly in black. Never floral prints. Never loud colors. Because I was always trying to make sure that they lasted. I never had stylish, trendy things. A friend of mine said that I wore “lasting” clothing. Yes. Also boring styles. And yes, these items lasted longer than if I’d purchased louder, brighter things. But I don’t hold myself to those standards anymore. I know that many Mormons wouldn’t think of this idea of clothing as having anything to do with Mormonism. But for me, it did. I had to make sure that I didn’t waste anything, not a stitch.

Now I am free to waste things, to draw attention to myself, to put on beautiful colors even if they’re not stylish next year. Just because I want to. Because it is selfish and I choose it.