The love/hate relationship between a girl and her wardrobe


That love/hate relationship between girls and their wardrobes really needs discussing. I mean, what is that relationship all about?

I’m going to make this article about me and the relationship I have with my wardrobe, the love/hate struggle and triumph I have with the entry point to Narnia. You could say my clothes and I have an okay relationship. Of course, they keep me safe from public indecency, they hide my jiggly bits (mostly) and they keep me warm, which is essential when you live in the North East of England. But I have a secret: me and my clothes fight A LOT in private. I hope some of you are thinking this sounds familiar, because I hope I’m not the only one who shouts at my skinny jeans.

There have been many days when that once well-fitting top, rides up to reveal that god awful belly button piercing I got at the grand old age of 11. There’s also been days when the button of my jeans poke into my tummy, leaving imprints that could rival even the brides from My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. Gross I know.

Then there’s the holey jumpers that look like they’ve played host to a mass moth buffet, the dresses that are a little too close (to the bum) for comfort – (you can take the girl out of Yorkshire…) And then there’s that one skirt that starts off well, and you finally think you’ve found the one in holy clothing matrimony and then BAM, the zip that started off at the back has magically done a 180 degree spin and is now chilling at your fly hole. Brilliant.

I even have a whole drawer of suicidal underwear screaming to be thrown away and be replaced with new sassy Victoria’s Secret knicks.

So, why haven’t I? Why haven’t I thrown those clothes I love-to-hate away? Why do I reluctantly wear them day-in, day-out, wash them, dry them and return them to my wardrobe ready to be worn again?

Maybe I still see the potential I once saw when I first bought that really cute pair of ankle-spraining heels. Or maybe I just have a really poor memory of the last time that low V-neck dress left nothing to the imagination. Or maybe I’m just too proud that the reason the skirt’s zip won’t stay in place is because the gym is finally starting to pay off.

I’ve often told myself (and still do) that it’s my body that’s the issue, not the clothes. I’ve even promised myself that those size eight jeans I bought as motivation in the Topshop sale will fit one day. But the reality is, I should really be telling myself that people change, grow, develop and lord knows: my big-bootied genetics are NEVER going to squeeze into a pair of size eight jeans from Toppers – but that’s okay, because curves are cool (shout-out to Kimmy K and Krew!)


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