Paring it Down: The Joys of a Tight Wardrobe Edit
New York is a great place for trying different versions of yourself on. The city’s enterprising, anything goes attitude toward dress and expression fosters experimentation in style that’s found few other places. Populated, though less so than before, with eccentric and compelling characters, it’s a safe space for expressing your multiple personalities. One day you can dress like a cowboy, the next a dandified art dealer, or even a SoHo hypebeast, without anyone passing judgment or finding these stylistic shifts incongruous. Socrates said “Know thyself,” and the examined life is best achieved through vigorous exploration.
Minneapolis, and other mid-sized cities, are wonderful places for refining and homing in on one’s truest style. Far away from the distraction of fashion and its weekly trend cycles, this distance makes dressing with the long view in mind easier. Thanks to the internet, non-coastal citizens can now follow and start trends with the ease of their coastal counterparts. What they have the additional power to do, however, is dip their toe in and out of fashion as they please.
For the three months I’ve been back in Minneapolis, I’ve noticed my wardrobe is less experimental without becoming boring or too traditional. While I lived in New York, I had carte blanche to adopt new looks as I pleased. I could not bring all these looks with me, though. Wheeling 125 pounds of suitcase through the airport is strenuous enough without hauling one’s entire wardrobe halfway across the country, and it forces an evaluation of what garments can be lived without. Certain pieces, too, had become too small, several pairs of shoes had worn out, jeans had had their crotch blow out one too many times. While they still sparked joy for me (take that, Marie Kondo), I could not wear them anymore. and a certain iteration of my style had passed.
Contending with fewer clothing options has made getting dressed easier, more of a light and fun activity than one daunted by the problem of choice. Though some might consider my uniform fashion-forward, style-conscious, or otherwise trendy compared to the apathetic approach most men take toward dressing — in the Midwest or anywhere, even New York — I consider it quite boring, or at the very least consistent. While what looks good on me is not limited, what looks best on me is, which I’ve found are five-pocket corduroys and a turtleneck. Though I wish I had a few sportcoats to create a small bit more variance in this look, it’s a reliable workhorse that got me through winter. If I didn’t feel like wearing a turtleneck, I threw on a neutral or navy sweater with a button-down layered underneath, usually denim. If I had wore corduroys too many days in a row, I’d swap them out for my white Levi’s 501 jeans or olive green Drake’s chinos with a generous two-inch cuff. My trusty Red Wing Iron Rangers adorned my feet, my sage green Barbour Bedale kept me warm even on the coldest days. I dressed mostly in earth tones, with a healthy dose of blue. I was quite satisfied with how I looked, in pieces that, if photographed, would pass muster 10 or 20 years from now.
Although I am a maximalist and love the art of collecting, I find the idea of buying fewer, better clothes refreshing. Especially when you’re young and without means, it makes acquiring nice garments easier and allows more left over for life’s other pleasures. Right after I had moved, I found myself in a panic, feeling that I didn’t have enough to wear. As I eased into my current wardrobe, I determined that my worries were unfounded. I have loved corduroy’s velvety feel since I was a child, the rugged, refined texture at once rustic and urbane. Reacquainting myself with it proved one of the greatest small joys in the past year, and I feel more comfortable and distinct in mine than I do a pair of blue jeans at the moment. Denim shirts offer me an individuality that run-of-the-mill oxfords don’t, as much as I love the latter’s understated appearance and universal functionality. Denim has more textural intrigue than a brand-new oxford, on par with one worn in over time, not quite perfect but better than that. The different styles and shades within its narrow scope seem infinite thanks to slight variances. Between my light denim Drake’s button-down, and my dark denim and Western shirts, both from J. Crew, I have the essentials covered. And while my first girlfriend remarked on the disproportionate amount of blue in my closet years ago, a fact which has not changed, I treat this distinction as a point of pride.
Considering that the United States, on average, generates more than 15 million tons of textile waste each year, spending more on less, on the nicer necessities of a tightly-edited uniform, benefits the environment, too. Think of all the clothing people throw out when they follow the fast-fashion cycle, shopping by the trend season — now on a weekly cycle — instead of buying to transcend trends. Though I jettisoned half my wardrobe out of need, I threw away only the very few pieces beyond repair, destroyed by countless holes after five or six years of wear. Most of my clothes I donated, the more valuable I sold on eBay, since they deserved another loving home. Several pairs of shoes were left for free on the curb, a bit beat up and beyond thrift store saleability, but in good enough condition to make a homeless person or dumpster diver’s day.
By buying a few good pieces each year in the styles that look best on you, not only do you cut down on waste, but you cut down on wardrobe dither. If you’re lucky, with the money you save by not shopping by the season, perhaps you can even afford a made-to-measure or bespoke commission, that, barring drastic changes in shape, will last a lifetime if maintained. You can open your closet each day, faced with several suits and sportcoats, a small but formidable assortment of shirting, freshly shaved sweaters, and shoes that get resoled instead of replaced, and know your place in the world. After years of exploration, here you are, building a wardrobe with a few quirks and idiosyncrasies, completely yours through trial, error, and more error. I’m not there yet, but I’m on my way.