Moving On & Getting Over - With Clothes

Over the past 7 (nearly 8) years of blogging I have started many posts with a statement regarding just how long it has been since I last sat down to write. At some point you’d think I would accept that my ability to blog simply comes in waves. It is an irregular, personal, cathartic process that is sometimes needed, and sometimes not. I’m not here to make an income or build a cult following. I’m here to share. Whether I’m sharing a personal reflection, a visual diary, or advice for dressing ethically.

It’s November. I’m finding myself wondering whether every single year from Sep 10th to Dec 17th I will live my life one foot in and the other very much out. Where is the other foot, you may wonder? Back in 2019, of course. Everyone knows that secretly I fantasize about the period of time when I lived, worked and loved in London, right? Every person I meet can see I carry a clutch size parasite of resentment towards my current surroundings at all times, right? But here’s the thing I’ve realized recently. No one knows this, nor do they care. I don’t say this in self-pity. It’s truly a beautiful thing to realize just how little anyone else actually gives a f*ck about you. It’s freeing. Everyone is too focussed on their own lives, and their own worries, to spend any amount of time judging me for my decision to come home to Canada, or my decision to remain in Canada (for now) and run my own business! In fact, the people in my life whom I respect and trust are proud of me for those decisions. Negative self talk is inherently a selfish whirlpool and I am the only party present.

But here’s the catch, I still need to find a way to climb out of the whirlpool, and I have to do it alone. Fashion has always been another catharsis for me. It allows me to put on a costume of sorts to manifest the type of energy I want for the day. This is an integral part of the power that comes with getting dressed every morning, so my style decisions are always very conscious. I found myself reaching for a tried and tested wardrobe favourite today (the green Nike hoodie you see here), but for some reason it felt wrong. The voice (you know, the mean one) told me: “You can’t wear the green hoodie. You bought that in Brighton on a super cool, fun trip back when your life was interesting. If you wear that today, you’ll just end up feeling constantly sad that you’re not in those same life circumstances anymore. You’re always so sad. Everyone you see today will think you’re a fraud for relying on the stories of your golden year instead of just living your life in the moment. You’re only 22, how sad and pathetic”. End scene.

Phew. Are you as exhausted as I am after reading that? What a load of absolute BS. I should have worn the green hoodie today in protest of this voice, but I didn’t. I reached, instead for something androgynous and comfortable; My uniform of late. I suppose I’m writing today to ponder why I feel such strong connections between clothes and memories, and why those connections have reached a point where I feel physically uncomfortable wearing certain clothes for fear of being “too nostalgic”. Nostalgia has nearly killed me these past two years, so that could be one reason. It’s addicting and powerful. But stories, whether from memories or my imagination remain my ultimate motivator for literally everything in my life. I am a story teller and whether or not anyone wants to hear these stories I need to tell them and subsequently create more. I love this personal trait, however, the fear of relying on stories, and in this case fashion that happened so long ago (okay, I know two years isn’t that long but 2020 lasted 10 years so I think the point is still valid) is real. By wearing my red puffer coat and yellow Carhart touque am I telling the world that I just can’t let go of a time in my life where this look was my uniform? Is it a sign of stunted growth? If I wear an outfit that once consensually held power over someone else, am I stuck in the past, unwilling to let go of them? Or, by wearing a look I favoured at a time in my life where I felt so alive and true to myself, am I simply manifesting that same “Emily abroad” energy in the here and now, regardless of my location or relationship status? Let’s go with the latter.

My personal style has certainly evolved since 2019. Weather and the need for practicality have definitely played a role in this. In London, my style was very easy and no frills - Emily with her production hat on (or neon vest). I had to be prepared to walk great distances, hop from bus to train to Uber, and found very little time to seek out style inspiration from runways or any online platform. Instead my style inspiration came from the streets. The purchase of my nylon Prada backpack and my logo Acne Studios scarf were both induced by women I saw in London. The dynamic of style is very different here. Now that I own my own luxury consignment store (@mostwanted_luxuryresale) I’m more in touch with fashion’s online presence. I could tell you the last thing Harry Styles posted and who attended the Gucci show in LA. And frankly, there is so little style in Kelowna that inspiration must be found online or within the four walls of my store. When I’m shooting, especially on location, I’ll revert back to a London outfit out of necessity. In these circumstances the clothes give me confidence that my experience abroad brought me to this place in my working life. How these clothes impact my personal life, as I’ve mentioned, is what I’m trying to grapple with.

I suppose I’m beginning to wonder what role fashion plays in understanding this ‘Big City to Small Town’ paradigm. I know that when I dress in a way that is unexpected to the general Kelowna population, I feel elated and very free. Maybe these looks give off “I used to live in a big city” vibes, but regardless, I just love dressing up. What no one here knows is when in London I hardly ever dressed with style for the sake of style. It’s when I opt for a hoodie and jeans, a production assistant’s workwear, something altogether accepted in a small town, that I feel fraudulent. As you can see here, I forced myself to be an outfit repeater for the sake of this blog post. These photos show my favourite ‘London Emily’ looks on a trip to Brighton, in a private sky bar a the O2 (funny story for another time), and getting on a train in Hackney. When I saw myself in the mirror wearing these three looks, I felt slightly nauseous and the impostor syndrome set in very quickly. A strategic part of my quest to live in the moment is to avoid speaking too much about or wearing too much of my previous life. Today I didn’t have time to dwell on these feelings, I had to go to work. Wearing these looks and living my day to day life felt very confusing. I felt pulled towards varying emotional responses, though I gave in to none of them. I suppose this experiment has confirmed my previous statement - nobody knows or cares what’s going on in my mind. Nobody is stalking my Instagram from two years ago only to see if I’m still wearing the same outfits now and what that represents. But I’ve also learned that the fashion element in my ‘moving on’ equation does hold weight. It will take time until I can reach for my trench coat and not feel like a failure. My perceptions have to shift in the direction of “paying homage” rather than drowning in nostalgia. I hope this doesn’t take too long because I desperately miss my turtle neck layering combinations.

If you can relate to anything you’ve read today, please reach out in the comments or my DMs.

Thanks for reading.

Em