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.

Shabbat Musings

I belong to a Jewish organization here in DC that sets up Shabbat Clusters a few times a year. They match interested people with a group in a particular geographical area, based in some way on religious observance, location, age group, and singles/couples. My new group met for the first time this evening a few metro stops away from my house, and it was just a lovely time. Shabbat Cluster dinners are held at somebody's home, and generally tend to go late, if the crowd is a good one- it's pretty common for dinner to spill into drinks and chatting until midnight. Tonight was no exception.

One theme that we discussed after dinner, once some people had headed out, was whether or not I am a hipster. Here were the arguments for my being "hipster":
- awareness of geocaching
- wearing all black (not entirely true- I had on a beige camisole. And I meant to wear my green/blue Seraphim shawl but it was too hot in the apartment for wool over my sweater)
- my admitting that I can rock a porkpie (it's a kind of hat- I actually look good in most styles of hats- I wish I could get away with them as a fashion accessory at work without looking like a... um, hipster)
- reading XKCD, a webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language
- my open love for the local dive bar, where my "peeps" are- admittedly, many of whom are "hipsters"
- my glasses, which are apparently uber-hipster. I was going for "sexy librarian," but I can see that.

I thought all of these were really more geeky than hipster. Except maybe the clothing and glasses.

What is hipster, anyways? I never think of myself as fitting into a people group in that way. Jewish, yes. Knitter, yes. Crazy crafter, of course. But hipster? That seems so foreign. I've never based my clothing choices on any particular group or trend, as is painfully obvious to those who know my eclectic and not very fashion-forward tastes. And I've never fit into those education-based groups- I wasn't preppy, or goth, or a jock (HA!), or anything like that. Just me. Maybe dramatic. Maybe unusual. Is that all hipster is, really?

Besides, I thought the current hipster model included skinny jeans and really long shirts. My body is definitely not aligned with these current fashion choices!

What will people remember of these early years of the 2000s- we seem to have stolen most of our fashion trends from the past. There's 70s looks, 80s looks, and even some grunge creeping in. People have taken on historical fashion (empire waists, cigarette pants). Is there some current style that kids in 2045 will look back and say "that is SO 2005!" I wonder. In the meantime, I'll just keep wearing my wacky choices on the weekends, and my formal suits Monday through Thursday. And blending the two on Fridays, when I can get away with it. I think I might wear bright red shoes and black slacks every Friday for the next month. Does that make me hipster? Or just me.

We also discussed the history of DC and the local roadways, for the record, while enjoying delicious potluck food. I baked an angel food cake, and I forgot how much better they taste homemade, rather than store bought. We even had a brief discussion of kashrut, the Jewish dietary laws, over brownies and my strawberries-and-whipped-cream-topped cake. It's pretty rare and handy hanging out with cartographers, grad students, and software engineers. Shabbat dinners in the DC area are never dull!

A new little challenge

I don't spend a whole ton of money on clothes. But I've had a few foibles since I started my most recent job. The big one is that since I started wearing orthotics (sexy!), I have to wear shoes that can take them. During the summer I seem to have mostly given up, and I wear my comfy SAS sandals in my free time, my running shoes for gym stuff and commuting, and reasonable heels at work. But in the fall and winter, when I can bear closed-toe, I have to wear the shmancy shoes with removable insoles that will take the orthotics. And those suckers are expensive. So anyways, my shoe budget ballooned due to the high quality of shoe I buy lately.

I also started buying suits. This was pretty necessary- I only had a few, and I wear suits at least four days a week. And I discovered real quick that wool just doesn't work in DC in the summer, at least not when it's averaging 85 degrees in June, and the real hot months haven't even hit yet. So I had to buy more suits, out of self-preservation. And then I had to buy tops to go under the suits, because you can't just wear little Gap tee shirts every day when you're trying to look like an adult.

I should have about enough suits now, and in a variety of colors and seasonal weights. I still don't have enough tops, and I could do with some other things... but really, I should be saving that money for more important things.

All this said, I've signed up for a challenge to make myself really think about my clothing purchases, my shoe buys, and my general rather consumerist approach to hitting up the H&M when I need tops. I'm not particularly fashionable, and my size does change fairly frequently (at least on top). But I can make an effort.

So for Wardrobe Refashion, I've agreed to go two months (July and August) without buying ANY new clothing, shoes, what have you. I can thrift, I can repurpose, and most importantly I can sew my own. So this summer I'm going to try and really get on that, and sew myself some pretty work-appropriate tops. The button is on the side of the blog, in case you're interested in clicking and learning more.

But first I need to make that vest for Jamie... really.