Shopping has never been my forte. I’ve made a conscious effort not to buy for fashion’s sake. But in reality, I’m a big ol’stress shopper.
Ask my bank account. Ask my wardrobe. For too long I’d blindly rummage around shops filling a basket with things I like – a glittery top I’ll wear once; a pair of jeans that look just like the other three pairs I own; fancy earrings “to go with that sparkly top”.
Then guiltily return home to drop them off in my overflowing wardrobe, still waiting patiently with their security tags intact. It all came to a head one Saturday during a rather brutal purge of my flat last spring.
I was begrudgingly hauling bin bags full of barely worn clothes to the charity shop at the bottom of my street when my flatmate Olivia sighed. “God Laura, do you have to keep apologising about buying so much?” she chirped, rummaging through a bag of clothes she kindly brought downstairs to donate too. “No I don’t!” I protested, yanking off a heavily discounted leopard print blouse and cringing at the ugly tights it had to endure to be deemed blogger worthy. “This was on offer!” “I planned on wearing this to James and Gemma’s wedding but opted for this instead.” “I completely forgot I had this!” Olivia just rolled her eyes and shuffled back to helping me unload countless bags of clothes which had shamefully taken over our bedroom.
That night, over an entire bottle of wine I did the maths. I spent an estimated £2,300 on clothes alone last year. But I wore the same ten outfits weekly.
Bloody £2,300. Enough to have flown to Portugal twice. Enough to have paid off half my student loan.
Enough to not feel panic at the screen when my card is being processed at Tesco. Stuff needed to change. And by stuff I mean my shopping habits.
No more half-hearted “should I buy this?” only to fling it in my basket kind of shopping. Because that’s not saving me money, that’s wasting it. Plus I clearly have no style if I own all of this but have nothing to wear.
I needed rules. Guidelines. Actual discipline.
Challenge accepted. I devoured books, blogs and dragged my coolest pals for life tutorials on their go-to shopping methods. One of my sisters, Charlotte, laughed when I rang her for some tips. “You need to switch your mindset.” She told me. “Stop faffing about and just buy less!” She sounded a lot less helpful than she actually was.
Because the thing is shopping discipline isn’t about buying less, it’s about buying better. It’s about seeing your wardrobe as something you curate rather than a mass accumulation of “ooh that’s nice!” items. Rule number 1: For every piece of clothing I buy, one must go.
As well as forcibly creating space in my wardrobe (my room is tiny so this was needed) I wanted to slow myself down when I was scrolling through new season collections. Suddenly buying the jumper I loved so much meant I’d have to throw out or donate another. Talk about commitment. “How am I supposed to have variety in my wardrobe if I only buy one thing?” I whined to Olivia after cancelling our shopping trip three weeks into my no-faux-pleases policy. “How often do you actually wear everything in your wardrobe?” She fired back.
Fine. Rule number 2: Work out the cost-per-wear value of items before buying. So you see a cute little top you love.
It’s £20. Bargain. But realistically how often will you wear it?
Twice? That £20 jumps to £10 per wear. Now compare that to a well-made blazer that you bought for £120.
Wear it once a week for two years and that’s only £1.15 per wear. Suddenly that pricey knit doesn’t seem so bad does it? This led me onto my biggest wardrobe game changer: investing in quality basics rather than trendy nonsense.
Up until this point I’d done the complete opposite. I deemed basics boring but necessary so would buy the cheapest version and spend my money on “fun” clothes. Cue a wardrobe full of poor-quality jeans that I’m constantly replacing but 20 glittery shirts I never wear.
My friend Priya, who has worked in fashion for the best part of a decade now, lectured me over coffee one afternoon about how stupid I was being. “Basics are your most worn items so invest in good ones.” She scolded me as she eyed up the faded pilling sleeve of my black cardigan. Cheap vests fall apart. Cheap jeans shrink in the wash and cling viciously to your hips.
Buy once, buy well – trickles down to everything in your wardrobe. She wasn’t wrong. The plain white shirt I begrudgingly spent £35 on last summer ( I felt like SUCH a loser at the time) is still going strong after eight months of being worn religiously.
My old £8 ‘basics’ fell apart in a matter of months with stretched seams and faded necklines. I’ll admit I did set myself another banal rule: wait 48- hours before making any unnecessary purchase. Oh how this changed my shopping habits.
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I now only buy 20% of the items I try on. If you give yourself time to think about whether you really need something, 9/10 you won’t buy it. I keep a wishlist on my phone and if after a month the item is still on there, you can bet your butt I’ll spend hours debating whether I truly NEED IT.
Those black ankle boots I’ve been looking for months? Yes. Needed.
That bright pink crossbody I grabbed after a few glasses of Sauvignon Blanc? Not so much. Finally, I only buy when the season is coming to an end.
Flipping heck it’s taken me years to train myself not to shop when the new collections come out. But hear me out. Everything is on sale in Autumn when you need winter coats.
Everything is on sale in Spring when you need sandals. Buy swimming costumes in September. Buy knitwear in March.
It’s pure genius. “I know-it’s-duh-stupid obvious” my dad scoffed when I excitedly relayed this information to him. Cheers for that one dad. Should’ve told me this when I spent the best part of a decade buying swiminis in March and boots in August.
Shopping with a list. Actual, literal lists. Who am I???
Well me, when I started applying common sense to my shopping habits. Make a list of things you need before you go out and STICK TO IT. Literally write down: ‘white jeans’, ‘black ankle boots to replace old pair’, ‘better quality leather bag’.
It sounds dreadfully boring I know, but it’s honestly made SUCH a difference for me. How many times have you gone out to buy jeans and return with everything BUT jeans? My guy friend Marcus has what is possibly the most organised wardrobe I’ve ever seen.
Lowkey popped over to his flat one day just to see how he did it. He pulls up a spreadsheet on his laptop that categorises wardrobe gaps, budgets and even potential places to buy from. I’m not about to get that hardcore just yet. (Heyoooo – may lose my street cred with Marcus over here) but I will forever utilise the idea of list shopping.
So now after a year and a half of ridiculously overanalysing my shopping habits, what’s the outcome? Do I now own nothing but a black gap t-shirt and jeans? Hallelujah, no.
I own half as many clothes as I used too, but wear everything I own. Honestly. I have so much less that Now when I get dressed in the morning I actually know I like everything in my wardrobe.
I can match. I spent 60% less on clothes last year but what I did buy was of a lot higher quality. People actually compliment me on how I look now rather than swimming through a sea of clothes to put an outfit together.
Sure I rolled my ankle at Laura’s wedding last summer because I’d donated the only pair of sandals I owned a few weeks prior. Sure it poured down rain for a whole week when I discovered I owned zero waterproof shoes. Sure I cried in the office after spilling coffee down my only white blouse at 8.30am.
You only have so many pieces to play wardrobe roulette with when your wardrobe is curated. Of course I’ve failed before. More than once.
Cyber Monday last year was practically a criminal offence for me.
My sister spent a whole weekend in Barcelona and came back with three earrings. We’re all human.
I’m just way better than I was. What I will say is that my shopping discipline has trickled into the rest of my life. I’m more conscious about what I buy now.
Whether it be homeware, food or even cleaning products. I don’t own 15 different face serums I used twice and hid at the back of my bathroom cabinet. My kitchen doesn’t stock up five varieties of oil I never use.
I know what I own and why I own it. What I don’t own are tonnes of clothes I never wear. “You’ve gone boring” my brother scoffed at me last month when I refused to accompany him on an impromptu shopping trip. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve started a bloody pension” Oh hai dad I totally have. Thanks to my newfound money hoarding ways.
