I'm back living at home with my parents right now, at the ripe old age of 27. I made the move in January, so I've had time to settle in and start to remember the rhythms of my OG "home."
Although I'd fully moved out, previously, and had been for years, there are still some clothes of mine in the back of my old wardrobe, scattered non-casual wear collecting dust shoved down in a closet or two, pieces of clothing which once I knew intimately and which time and change have rendered so unimportant they never moved out with me, or were worth getting rid of. The truest discards, in a way.
Then, because when I moved in I did so in a hurry, there's my 75% of my 2015-2016 day-to-day wear unpacked, at ready hand, which took occupation in those same closets and wood drawers and have been in steady rotation. Because everyone must wear something.
I recently found one of those boxes (if you've done any recent moving, you'll know the kind of box I mean) whose contents I'd forgotten, and were an astonishingly nonsensical mix of genres besides - wall art, some records, some books, assorted "junk" items, and a handful or two of clothes I'd packed, known intimately when I packed them, and in the flurry of moving, packing, disorganizing, organizing, etc, had both lost and forgotten. It was interesting: some shirts are like meeting up with beloved old friends while there's a pair of jeans I think I used to love which our time apart has enabled me to realize: it's past time I get rid of them.
I can't be the only Hubskier with an intimate relationship with their clothing. In fact, I suspect most people have a similar and very intimate relationship with their own collections of attire. As I sort through today's clothes and yesterday's clothes and realize I need to get rid of some of them - maybe even half of them - but then come across this piece which I remember I wore to that party and this shirt which was my favorite shirt for a whole summer and I left at an erstwhile lover's house and had to fight to get it back and that piece which I wore when I did that and so on, and so forth --
-- I ask, Hubski --
what's one piece of clothing you've held on for so, so long - maybe even too long - but you can't get rid of? And why? What's its emotional significance to you?
If you've got pictures, even better. :)
To avoid the appearance of posting only to share my own story, I'll refrain from my stories and tattered rags for the time being. If anyone has creative ideas for repurposing clothing, though, I am all ears - I have already done plenty of book covers and now I am looking at maybe tied rag blankets, but trust me...I have pleeeennnnttty. :)
I'm rather anti-clutter so I'm actually pretty good at getting rid of old clothes, but I do have some bits and bobs I'll probably never get rid of.
Here's a very blurry photo of two of them. The first is a t-shirt I picked up at a Police concert back in 2006 - they were and are one of my favourite bands, and I was thrilled to be able to see them live. The second is a leather jacket my dad gave me when I was about seventeen; I have no idea where he got it, but I've worn it for years whenever I've needed a couple of extra coolness points.
This is an old pair of jeans that my then-girlfriend repaired after holes had worn in everywhere. She was mad into sewing and stuff so she threw all sorts of bits and bobs on it, and it now has 100% more pockets.
This is one of the t-shirts I wore on my walk last year.
Which brings me to the hat. I was given this by Sally, a lovely woman I met in Kenmare on my walk. For the rest of my walk, it only left my head when I was sitting down to sleep. I love this thing - it was great in both sun and rain - and now it evokes fond memories of adventuring.
Two more hats. This paddy hat was given to me in very curious circumstances. I was sitting outside a café in Dublin with a different girlfriend, and this dude walked past giving me thumbs up and exclaiming "Yeah! You're doing it! Keep at it, man!" We barely had time to wonder what he was on about before he turned back, told me he was my father from another universe, and said that this was the hat of David Hill, and if I wore it no-one would mess with me. I'm 100% serious. And no-one has ever messed with me while I was wearing it. Relax, I washed it first.
Finally, Yoongen's hat. He was a Korean golfer who joined our impromptu little gang on the Camino a few years back, and became a close friend despite our almost total lack of ability to speak to each other. He left in Santiago as we were about to push on to Finisterre, and gave me his hat.