And just like that… The second edition of Katie Ross’ monthly fashion feature has arrived, where she explores her devoted – and often toxic – relationship with her wardrobe

Throughout my life, my anxiety levels have been at a constant yoyo between barely noticeable and Ewan McGregor coming off the smack and getting imaginary sucked into a filthy toilet in Trainspotting—no inbetween. As many familiar with anxiety will know, the tigers tend to come at night, and the wee small hours are traditionally when I’m at my most Ewan-in-cold-turkey: mind whirring, heart palpitations AF, narrowly swerving the cold sweats.

I know this is a fashion feature, but I will still preface this tale by saying I absolutely love clothes. Always have. And when I was around 15 I developed a night-time anti-anxiety method by complete accident. I began piecing together clothing items in my head to create (what I deemed to be) cohesive outfits. This wasn’t restricted to items I owned, but ones I had seen in stores (RIP Topshop as we knew it) or online. The level of detail at which I would mentally trial different pairings of clothing, shoes, and accessories would rid my mind of its former worries and send me off to sleep.

The one snag with incessant mental styling that rests heavily upon items you don’t actually possess, is the subsequent and inescapable desire to own them in order to complete the outfit. Ironically, that which soothed my quotidian nerves actually catalysed an enduring spending problem. 

This was due to constantly seeking out little pieces to add to my burgeoning mental wardrobe. I was chronically online or in stores looking at items that I would then almost always find a way to transfer into my physical one too. In my second year of university, I seized the offer of a free overdraft by the proverbial horns and maxed myself out the full £2,000 in debt – I was getting ASOS parcels almost daily, received usually by my disgruntled housemates who had been summoned out of the bed by the DPD driver one too many times. (I should say for the record, I paid it off when working after university.)

I’m not sure at what stage I realised this had to stop, but I am far better now than I used to be. I go in short bursts of incessant buying followed by months-long fallow periods, which although is far from ideal, is much better than your whole life being the incessant buying phase.

It’s a tale as old as time the way a successful new purchase makes you feel. My Monzo Wrapped for 2023 told me that last year was my ‘Bragging about my eBay bargains’ era, which to be honest I wanted to shout from the rooftops as there is a knack to finding great bits on eBay, and I certainly have it. And who am I to squander such talent?

“Clothes are a constant reminder of the self we want to be (or are told we should be)”

If I do say so myself, I have great clothes. I love to borrow from friends, but my wardrobe has reliably been the one that gets raided the most in any girl-heavy house share. At university, I would regularly take photos of several housemates on a night out and realise they were wearing head-to-toe me.

And without wanting to sound glib or too Miranda Priestly waxing poetic about Oscar de la Renta cerulean gowns, clothes hold an incredible power over us whether we consider ourselves fashion girlies or not. You’ve seen the movies: Woman tries on 100 outfits and says she’s not going before trying the first one on again and going with that. Bride tries on the winning dress, mum and problematic blonde friend who will almost certainly sleep with the best man as a depressing “comedy” plotline, burst into tears on the spot. The right suit, the wrong date outfit, a silly hat. Clothes will make or break your day.

It can be pretty toxic, the relationship we have with our clothes. I will let a pair of jeans rule my mood if I put them on and they feel tighter than usual. Clothes are a constant reminder of the self we want to be (or are told we should be). I once ran back down the street and risked being late for a first date because I’d forgotten to put my rings on and my hoops in. I could never risk projecting anything other than my glittery, jangly self to any potential suitors from the outset, even if it means they have to have their first few sips of Estrella alone.

And like building the right outfit, building a wardrobe is so satisfying. ASOS panic buys will come and go but ‘bragging about your eBay bargains’ will last a lifetime. A £40 black zip through Prada top from Depop two years ago, a leather Diesel bag bought for £7 off eBay when it was very uncool to wear Diesel (who’s laughing now), a Calvin Klein navy denim motocross jacket bought for £10 (I found the exact same one on Depop weeks later for £80) and is now probably my most coveted item.

There are also days when this relationship feels like too serious a commitment, a heavy cross to bear. This is when I wish I was a jeans-and-a-nice-top girl. It would just make getting ready so much easier, like your mum putting your school uniform out for you. But unfortunately, I can’t fight my kooky desire to wear skirts over trousers or fluffy knitted bonnets that make me look like a swaddled Victorian bairn.

So at least for now, I’ll carry on as normal. I’ll sleep soundly as I count shoes instead of sheep. Because this was a choice—my heel to die on.