my favourite going-out dress of the year, from the 50c stall
my favourite homemade jacket of this year, which I still have not found another occasion to wear, than this first night out socialising with Vincent in Guardia, back in September!
gathering mushrooms, plants and firewood in Portugal, dressed in my stepmum's beautiful boots and jacket, plus some funky winter elegance - though we were seen by only one old lady who was visibly very unconcerned about appearances
Dressing up has changed for me, in the last months, living up a glen in Portugal and not having my usual socialising circle to get my best kecks on for. It is a joy to live in a wild rural place, and at the same time, I still want to dress up; this is an interesting phenomenon, as it reminds me that making oneself smart and colourful/ beautiful and elegant/ comfortable and warm/ expressing one’s inner world in the outer layer – this is as vital for ourselves in the wilds, as it might be in cities for those who dress up for others.
one of my favourite practical-but-bella outfits, with the pink yoga trousers pre-their destruction by wild boar, picnicking with Vincent and Maria
the flipflops which the wild boar chewed on, whilst we were sleeping in my open car, up in the Matese mountains behind Guardia
I always loved dressing up special! It was one of my earliest passions, linked to jumble sales – which in Scotland are a rare treat: the village hall opened with great mountains of secondhand clothing and bric-a-brac, books and random treasures, usually next to some homebake tables and seating to rest and recuperate with gallons of tea…
my special Scotland-inspired trousers, on the epic bus trip I made there at the end of last year: woollen tartan trousers (uber wee!) which I widened with a scarf bought the same day at another stall
My young self, from almost as soon as I could speak and hold a coin, would immerse in the throng of old ladies elbowing each other – children could slip between more easily, and get to the less haggled-over items under the masses – and from below I would offer up my giant old pennies for whacky handbags, old lady shoes, tattered Enid Blyton novels, and the like - rushing to the bathrooms to pile up what I'd bought, then skipping back for more 2p and 5p bargains.
preparing to leave Italy with Vincent, dressed up for the garage visit to make the car safe for our long drive to central Portugal
The festive atmosphere of such an event in a very quiet island village stayed with me as I grew up, and I attended city jumble sales (a much more cut-throat business, with far sharper elbows!) and found out about charity shops. All kinds of thrift stores and markets stalls, in myriad countries, fed my clothing passion… Then many many years later in Italy, the infamous 50c stalls finally inspired me to get into the actual transformation of clothing.
another pair of adapted trousers, which in this outfit felt like a kind of armour; I've often felt like I need to protect myself in my second skin, as people project a lot onto me where I was in Italy, and I can't always deflect it easily
Throughout this long journey and evolution of getting dressed nicely, as much fun as it might’ve looked like I was having, it took a long time to feel truly comfortable in my second skin. And in my first skin! A lot of inner work, catharsis, art making and letting go of old relationship patterns with all things: arriving on the other side feels incredibly liberating; wearing precisely what I want to each and every day, to each and every occasion - clothing which appropriately illustrates on the outside, what feels most right for me in each and every single moment.
It has been like house-hunting (see my post the other day on Wild Homestead Hunting On Foot ); finding the right second skins, to make getting dressed for the world a pleasurable experience. I am very aware that a lot of people do not even think much about such things, and are quite happy to buy whatever the shops in the high street offer us. But from very early on, I was incredibly sensitive about what I was wearing. I felt it all, and if it didn’t feel right, then it sat wrong. This only exacerbated as I grew up, especially regarding how others projected meanness and negative stuff onto me, as I dressed (to them at least) rather eccentrically.
my recent stripey dress photoshoot, by 
Finding the right garments has been very much like finding the perfect abode to live in, and the perfect partner; clothing needs to sit perfectly for the ‘atmosphere’ of the day; the elemental essence: not just how hot or cold it is, but the textures, colours, sensations as I move, have to all line up synchronistically with what is happening around me. It kind of puzzles me that many others do not have this need or want to dress particularly interestingly, nor to find specialness in their clothing. I get that things need to be functional, but this does not mean that they should not be also beautiful, fun, exciting, stimulating, surprising, friendly, stunning, amazing….
a dress made from skirt and jacket deconstructed
camping attire, up at Lago Di Matese in the summer: blue wool super-dressing-gown and leather sandals, in the lush wet meadows
There was rather a deep cynicism about clothing where I grew up, if I think and feel back into how my dressing-up first interacted with the collective. My mum and my dad (though they cared for us in different households) also both at some point were exasperated with my eccentricities. They became embarrassed about my taking such initiative in dressing myself – and this inspiration blossoming into wanting to make my own things. Similarly, school (both teachers and fellow pupils) was excruciatingly hard to please: even buying more refined ‘trendy’ clothing as I grew up, earning money in a weekend job, and able to go to the mainland and shop for new clothes, didn’t impress anyone particularly. It all seemed very controversial, and my want to just dress for the pure pleasure and rightness of it, got entangled in the contrary societal fuckwittery of discontendedness.
another photo taken by Vincent, in the mountains, with my favourite dressing gown
Again, it took a long time to disentangle myself from that maelstrom of neuroses; I always dressed for my own enjoyment, but it always had this edge of not--being-quite-how-I-want-it-yet. Finding the ongoing sweet spot, and staying in that lane, was a big old hard work journey of letting go of any tension, picking up the needles and textiles, and stepping out with a fake-it-until-you-make-it confidence … which …. e v e n t u a l l y …. became a reality!
feeling free in the mountains, in loose wide silk clothing, adjusted 50c stall treasures
Now, dressing each day is a potent and meaning-full ritual of self transformation: I leave the night world of sleep, of divine unconscious-superconscious re-interweaving – and enter my marvellous collection of wools, cottons, silks and randomness. I tune into what I need immediately, which just now is warmth and comfort, for movement and seatedness as I write this post in the chilly kitchen, but then I get to reimagine my walking out into the world with the right ceremonial robes for whatever great event I’ll be participating in today.
driving up to the Matese mountains, in comfort and style, feeling healthy!
dressing up to meet Vincent's family
Wearing more unusual clothing can be the start of brilliant friendships – or in the least a lovely conversation, perhaps about crafting and shared values, probably about the profound pleasure of the homemade. Sometimes I remind someone that they love sewing, and that they haven’t done it in a while. Sometimes my partner Vincent picks up my clothes and wears them – NOT in any cross-dressing kind of a way! - in the glorious elegant enthusiasm that he uniquely has, of loving the way a piece of clothing hangs, and picking it up spontaneously and wearing it like only he can!
and dressing down for a trip to a nearby town to Guardia, taking Maria to an appointment
It is a joy to have someone else with whom I now share my life, to delve even deeper into dressing up with! His excitement at what I am inventing, making, wearing, feeds my confidence and enthusiasm to continue. Whereas in the past, it felt like a battle, leaving the house and being stared at by judgmental others. It is good too that I live in a culture (central Portugal) that appears at least initially, to be very accepting of all kinds of ways of dressing and presenting oneself! What a contrast to the dark looks of hatefulness, that I often got in the Italian town I lived in, or the uber-mysoginist digs, which men there thought of as perfectly legitimate queries… Yeuch. It is wonderful to be protected by my man here, and to walk colourfully beside him, in a warm culture of heart-felt connectedness.
a favourite pair of leggings (from the 50c stall) and shoes (from Franco's secondhand shoes stall), which help many outfits to come together nicely
Maybe the evolution of my relationship with clothing has helped that, maybe it’s just a better ‘fit’ for me here. Certainly being loved helps, either way; this helps me in turn love myself more, and love dressing up myself to go out, more. Dressing up becomes more like a Rite and a Gateway into the Sacredness of each day: just the plain alignment of it all: the right top with the right trews, with the right coat and hat, gloves and bag – which make up a united unit of perfection: like the ingredients of a cake making it just so, with a cherry on top!
one of many pairs of underwear which I've made by cutting up larger lingerie items: pictured here with a French cat in Scotland, who kept me company as I sewed
Dressing up is one of the key pillars of my life: it has been a vital thread in my remaking my reality, and in returning to full health and happiness. It seems like a more important realm than it is given space for – even with the immense effort-full daily striving of the fashion and celebrity industry. Fortunately, I can also see how crafting and making one’s own clothing have nevertheless flooded into the collective conscious in recent decades, providing the supreme antidote to all the cynics, the meanies and the snobs!
my best display outfit, in my pop-up shop with Kesityu Fashion, a couple of winters ago
and finally.... my favourite short plaid skirt and sequinned sweatshirt that I like to potter around the house in
