Lately I find myself looking for clothes that will envelop
me, not just to keep me warm, but also to make me feel cared for. I realize that
it comes from the need for “self-care,” a buzz word that is going around the
media a lot lately, and scholarship as well, to mean a lot of things. Self-care
means what it says, quite literally, to take care of oneself first and
foremost, before you can take care of others. But it also means that if you
don’t take of yourself, no one else will. And that is probably why it has
become such a “thing” lately. Many of us can’t afford medical care, let alone
therapy, many of us are in abusive relationships, or, at the very least,
relationships that do not satisfy our emotional needs, needs which are greater than
ever before given the general state of anxiety we live in.
I bought a silk bomber jacket for summer train and bus
rides, and I went for a larger size so that it could envelop me.
I bought a boiled wool coat, size medium, for the same
reason, so that it could envelop me in a cocoon of security, warmth and
comfort. I now rely on clothes to do the work of people.
I came down with a bad case of the stomach flu followed by a
strange rash on my arms and legs. I read about mosquito born illnesses and
wondered if that was what I had. My last check up lasted fifteen minutes, most of
which were spent catching up since I’ve been seeing the same doctor for years. That
left very little time for ailments, of which I have quite a few. I might be a
hypochondriac, but it IS my annual check up, and it would be nice if there were
some concerns about some of them. The only recommendation from my PCP was that
I get a massage.
I lay in bed thinking about that diagnosis during this
stomach flu/virus thing (self-diagnosis is another trend, worrisome given that
we lay people don’t know medicine), and I was angry.
Clothes are not going to help me with my stomach ailments, unless, perhaps, I pile them on top of me and lay still. Then another part of my body starts to
get sore. Sigh.
Meanwhile, more alarming statistics about the waste produced by discarded clothing. The New York Times writes that we discard half our body weight in discarded clothing each year. I can well imagine that given the number of bags of clothes I bring to the local charity shop each year. I am not an environmental saint when it comes to clothes acquisitions. My only rule is to keep the purchases to one per week, new clothing that is. Old clothing doesn't count in my mind because I am keeping it from the waste bin by taking it home. But even one piece of new clothing per week adds up to fifty-two per year, which I realize is a lot.
My excuse is the same: self-care. I tend to (we tend to) buy clothes when we are feeling blue. That's why it's called retail therapy. It's a quick fix.
I did learn this week from three different people that there is a tailor in my town who does great alterations. It's time to redirect my thoughts and needs, and see if a little time at the tailor will soothe the mind and the body.
