A Sentimental Maximalist’s Capsule Wardrobe Summer
Written by Jess Huang
Key to my closet; all items thrifted/secondhand unless noted otherwise:
White Brandy tank
Black and off-white striped off-the-shoulder slouchy tee
Pale pink babydoll blouse
Black lace blouse
White strappy tank-dress printed by my dear friend (@moseyingaround4ever)
Blue/brown reversible Fruity Booty tank,
Olive Paloma Wool tote
Teal crossbody bag
Baby blue Clairo tee (cut off-the-shoulder)
Brown tank
Hysteric Glamour sweater (cut off-the-shoulder)
Brown Paloma Wool maxi skirt
Dark-wash denim jorts
GOOPiMADE parachute pants
White/blue floral brandy babydoll dress
Navy green plaid jorts
White graphic tee (cut off-the-shoulder, if you haven’t noticed a trend)
Black Mary Jane flats
Brown clogs
Grey Onitsuka Tiger sneakers
I dread moving out of my dorm room in May. This year, it felt particularly gruesome. For context: I’m a full-time international college student and part-time couch-surfing nomad during school breaks. Traveling home comes with emotional and physical complications, so most summers, I stay in the country. Having left home for prep school as a teenager, I’ve grown accustomed to this lifestyle, and a strong love for the community I’ve built across the Pacific. This summer, I’ll be living and working in Brooklyn.
Just a week ago, I sat on my floor surrounded by the miscellaneous bits and pieces I’ve collected, my poster wall half deconstructed. The material objects are a confrontational reality of my consumption patterns.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved buying and collecting. Clothes are the least of it: I kept every travel postcard, pretty packaging, and spare ribbon imaginable, just in case I needed it. My bedroom mantel has become a cozy little town, populated by tiny figurines, crystals, and any other knick-knacks that’d caught my eye. I’m a firm disciple of personalization and self-expression through fashion, given that I spent the better half of my teenage years occupying cookie-cutter dorm rooms and navigating a predominantly white, particularly preppy boarding school.
But recently? A lot of my beloved memorabilia has felt more like clutter. I kept several rolls of film negatives from a couple of summers ago, which I spent inseparable from girls I no longer speak to. I started to harbor a sense of disconnection towards some of my clothes, too. I was cycling through many outfit changes in the morning, trying to find something that made me feel good. But more often than not, I felt like my clothes were wearing me, instead of the other way around. My collection of colorful silk slips and patterned miniskirts feels less appealing. They reminded me of a time when I felt unsure who I was, and turned to fashion, hoping for an answer that resonated. I still enjoy experimenting, but these pieces no longer speak to my personality as firmly as they used to. I blame my prefrontal cortex development.
That’s not to say I’ve done a full one-eighty; my whimsical, floaty personality remains true, but what I wear may reflect that differently. I still enjoy feminine silhouettes, but I opt for longer pieces like my black silk blouse over a graphic tank I’d taken scissors to. I’ve traded in my platform Mary Jane Docs for a comfy pair of leather flats. I still feel like myself, but lighter, more mature, and more comfortable in my skin.
Channeling a“ personal style” was a concept I used to dote on. The mission was meticulously effortless. How can I look chic and different from my Golden Goose and Van Cleef-wearing high school peers? While I look back at my bright, Y2K-forward style pre-college with respect to my experimentation, I can’t say that it resonates with me the way it used to.
Finding a personal style has become an impossible task amidst the whiplash of microtrends and overwhelming access to Pinterest fitspo. I, too, have fallen victim to a pair of zebra-printed jeans, or more recently, the Bow Tax. Maybe I’m chronically online, but I keep wondering, why does everyone look the same, all the time? There’s a plethora of online discourse on this, and I don’t feel like regurgitating it for the blog. But the tentative conclusion I’ve come to is the bold, never-been-thought-of idea that maybe it’s okay to be like other people.
I’m okay with wearing my T-shirts with the necklines amateurishly cut off, because it reminds me of how my sleepaway camp friends and I wore them. I’m okay with adoring my babydoll blouses because they remind me of my dear friend Mo, who resembles a ‘60s mod icon. I exist within my context, and so does my closet.
While most of my closet is already secondhand, sourced from local thrifts and flea markets, I still feel burdened by heaps of stuff I just don’t wear. And, honestly? Here’s something I don’t think gets brought up enough: overconsuming thrifted/secondhand fashion is…still overconsuming. This is a truth that I had to learn on my journey to more mindful shopping habits.
The environmental, financial, moral, and spiritual burdens weighed on me, not to mention the actual weight of the absurd number of bins and suitcases I came face-to-face with during move-in and move-out season. Something has to change. I want to conduct an experiment on myself for the summer: twenty pieces (excluding jewelry) for the next three months. If I were to pick out any combination of items blindfolded, I’d be able to come out with an outfit that feels comfy, stylish, and like me.
Without meaning to, I’d been soft-launching this practice for the past six months. Honestly, I had a rocky semester. Being a college student is hard. Life, on top of that…makes shit harder. And when shit gets hard, I lack the mental energy to concoct a fresh, innovative fit in the morning. I had things I knew were beautiful, flattering, and made me feel the best I could. When it came time to pack for summer, my favorites stood out.
Practicing“ minimalism” is foreign to me. When I posted about wanting to downsize my wardrobe for the summer on my Close Friends story, my friend Eleanor swiped up with a reply: “You and minimalism have never been in the same room”. She’s not wrong, maybe minimalism and I are awkward acquaintances for now. But, I think I can learn from this odd new friend with some time and intentionality.
I was militant about what made the cut. Every piece I brought is well-loved and carries deep sentimental value. I know I like baggy; I like flowy. I like juxtaposing bubble-sleeved tops with big cargo parachute pants. I like functionality with personality. I like outfits that can survive even the New York midsummer, whether that’s a subway ride that feels like an involuntary trip to the sauna, or a sweaty CitiBike commute.
So, I chose the JNCO jorts I bought from a sickeningly chic woman at a flea under the Manhattan Bridge (the summer after high school). I decided to bring the beige pants that I’d“ borrowed” from my boyfriend 14 months ago (oops). And, I packed the merch piece from one of my favorite artists that also featured my favorite animal, a bunny (it was meant to be). With each piece of clothing, I’m reminded of those I’ve encountered and the impression they’ve made on my taste, choices, and character.
Not that I’m biased or anything, but I’d like to give myself a pat on the back for setting myself up. Only time will tell whether I’m a successfully reformed consumer-maximalist, but I’m pretty excited to wear my clothes this summer.
