The Cost of Quality

I've been thinking about quality and cost of clothing lately. I've never been much of a slave to fashion. Far from it- I really did wear prairie dresses to middle school. A lot. My mother made me matching bonnets but I believe (thank goodness) that I didn't actually wear those WITH the dresses to school.

Around when I realized that maybe prairie dresses weren't the "it" thing, even on drama kids, I discovered this one incredible top. It was a lightweight cardigan, very boxy in style, with amazing drape and hand. It buttoned in the front, and had tiny little pockets just right to hold a tissue and some bobby pins or little whatnots. It had a delicate texture to it, a printing of some kind, but was entirely cream in color. I think it must have been a cotton/linen blend. It went beautifully with my hippie skirts, most of which my mother sewed for me. Broomstick skirts, after all, are way cheaper to make than to buy. Did I mention this was all in the early to mid 90s? I picked up this amazing top, which I wore at least weekly from maybe 8th grade through the middle of high school, in the Northern Neck of Virginia when my mom and I visited my Aunt Barb. We went to this quaint little shop with lots of hippie style clothing- the sorts of clothing I associated at the time with my chorus teacher, Mrs. Kaz. Earth mother, very granola, typical attire for theater folks or New Englanders with an unusual sense of fashion. Funny how certain styles of clothing, voluptuous and flowing and in muted colors, can be so strictly drawn into a style of personality as well. I think they still sell all that stuff, the browns and beiges and unstructured linens, in the same shops where they sell those good old broomstick hippie skirts, and patchouli incense. My father loves patchouli, but I'm not sure I ever acquired a taste for the smell, though most of my clothes in middle school definitely smelled of it.

Where I'm going with this, and I am, really, going with this, is that that top got plum wore out. I wore it by itself, with jeans and those ever present skirts, and then as I grew older it became a cute little jacket over a green leotard with black slacks. Or over a black tank top and a black skirt. I did wear a lot of black, but that cream-colored top just went with everything. It was soft, comfortable, and just delicious in every way.

It also cost over a hundred dollars. That was an awfully big deal at the time- my mom bought it for me on the condition that I clean the bathroom my sister and I shared in our house in New Hampshire. And I did, for the year or so that we still lived there. Every week, I cleaned that bathroom with great care, because I valued the bargain, and I felt like that sweater top was worth every penny that she paid for it. I wore it not because of a value for money ratio, however, but because it really was amazingly made. The buttons never once came loose, the jacket stayed its pretty unstructured self as long as I had it. I did finally have to stop wearing it because years of wearing and washing finally broke it down, and it was getting a bit threadbare.

Now I still prefer clothes that are fairly inexpensive. A hundred bucks still is more than I am generally willing to spend on a top. But my first experience with true garment quality- a clothing item that is priced high, but incredibly well-made - was really beneficial. My love for all kinds of fiber has been instructional. I can tell when something is well-sewn, well-constructed, out of good quality materials. I can usually tell when something will last me an entire season, or better yet many many seasons. Sometimes I still misjudge, and sometimes you just need that color of the season in a cheap-o top that will self-destruct after a single summer.

But I've learned the more important lessons about the cost of quality being completely worth it. It's better to get the hundred dollar pants on sale for fifty, than the fifty dollar pants that aren't lined and have shoddy pockets. Undergarments in the right size are worth every single penny of their absurd costs, if it means you avoid back problems. And I may no longer be able to wear that one sweater jacket anymore, but it will always be there in the back of my mind when I knit my own sweaters and purchase ready-made, reminding me to factor in the completely worthwhile cost of quality.