A Wardrobe in Progress

On clearing out my closet, choosing better fabrics, and finding my way back to personal style.

It started with a dresser drawer.

Not a particularly meaningful place for a revelation, but lately, every time I opened one of mine, I felt a little overwhelmed.

The drawers were stuffed with clothing I wasn't wearing. Pieces from different seasons of life, different versions of my body, and different ideas of who I thought I might become. Somewhere among the oversized T-shirts, old favorites, and things I kept simply because I had room for them, getting dressed had started to feel more complicated than it needed to be.

Our bedroom dresser also doubles as a changing station for our youngest daughter. Between the diapers, the laundry, and the everyday rhythm of raising two little girls, it had become one more place where my own things were squeezed around everyone else's.

I kept thinking about how, years ago, when I lived in small apartments, I would carefully rotate my wardrobe with the seasons. There was something satisfying about bringing out the sweaters when the air turned cold, packing away summer clothes, and rediscovering pieces I hadn't seen in months.

Now, with more space, I had somehow become less intentional about what I kept.

So I decided to begin there.

The Things We Hold Onto

I recently came across the idea that an overfilled drawer can represent holding onto past versions of ourselves.

I don't know how literally I believe that, but the thought stayed with me.

My closet had become a collection of clothes from several different lives: the years before motherhood, pregnancies, postpartum seasons, and the practical wardrobe I've assembled around being home with my daughters.

And while I treasure all those chapters, I don't necessarily need to keep every piece of clothing that accompanied them.

There are things worth saving, of course. Beautifully made pieces, sentimental favorites, and perhaps a few things my daughters might love to discover someday.

But an uncomfortable polyester shirt I haven't reached for in years isn't an heirloom.

I began sorting everything into three groups: what I wanted to keep, what belonged somewhere else, and what was ready to be donated.

Once I started, the process was surprisingly peaceful.

I wasn't trying to create a perfect minimalist wardrobe. I was simply making space to see what I already had.

Remembering What I Love

Before becoming a mother, fashion was a much bigger part of my everyday life.

I studied fashion merchandising, worked at American Apparel, and loved the possibilities of a simple wardrobe. A good T-shirt, interesting proportions, a beautiful fabric, and something unexpected could make even the most ordinary outfit feel personal.

I still love those things.

But somewhere between pregnancies, changing sizes, and dressing for days spent caring for little ones, I stopped feeling quite as connected to my clothes.

There is a practical side to motherhood that I don't want to dismiss. I need to be able to sit on the floor, carry a toddler, run errands, and move comfortably through the day.

But I also don't want practicality to mean forgetting that I enjoy fashion.

I miss getting dressed simply because I love the way an outfit comes together.

And I've been realizing that what I'm looking for isn't necessarily a new style. It's a way back to the things I've always loved, adapted to the life I'm living now.

Fewer Things, Better Feelings

As I worked through my drawers, I started paying closer attention to fabric.

I've become increasingly interested in natural fibers: cotton that feels substantial, linen that softens with wear, and wool or cashmere that makes an ordinary day feel a little more considered.

I love the idea of building a wardrobe around pieces that can be worn often, cared for, and kept for years.

That doesn't mean replacing everything I own or pretending every natural fiber is automatically the most sustainable choice. Some of my existing clothes are made from synthetics, and I'll continue wearing the pieces that serve me.

For now, I'm trying to be more thoughtful about what comes next.

I want to understand why I reach for certain things, why others sit untouched, and which pieces feel worth investing in when something genuinely needs replacing.

It turns out that clearing out a wardrobe can teach you quite a lot about what you already love.

Getting Dressed Again

After sorting the drawers, I started trying on outfits and photographing them.

Not to create a perfectly curated capsule, but to see familiar pieces with fresh eyes.

A canvas jacket with a dark collar and worn-in denim. A soft brown sweater with cream shorts. A linen shirt over black trousers.

Simple combinations, but each one reminded me of something I enjoy: texture, contrast, relaxed shapes, and a little edge.

Then there was a black cashmere cardigan.

It's comfortable, beautifully soft, and finished with delicate buttons. I wore it with relaxed cream trousers, fastening it in a way that felt just a little unexpected.

Of everything I tried, that outfit taught me the most.

I realized I don't necessarily want to dress more formally. I want my everyday clothes to feel elevated without feeling precious. Comfortable without feeling careless. Simple without being forgettable.

I'm learning that the difference often comes down to the fabric, the proportions, and one small styling decision.

And I'm also learning that finding my way back to personal style isn't always easy. My body has changed, and there are days when photographs and mirrors bring up feelings I'm still working through.

I'm trying not to let those feelings make every decision for me.

The goal isn't to wait for a different body or a different season of life before enjoying beautiful clothes again.

It's to get dressed for the person I am today.

A Wardrobe Still Becoming

I haven't finished editing my closet.

There are still things to sort, a few gaps to consider, and silhouettes I'd like to explore. I know I could use better-fitting everyday tops, and I would love to find a beautiful pair of tailored trousers.

But I'm not rushing to fill every empty space.

For the first time in a while, opening my dresser feels peaceful.

There is room to put things away. Room to appreciate what I've kept. Room to discover what I actually want to wear.

And perhaps that's the most meaningful part of this little project.

So much of our life right now is unfinished. There are rooms waiting to be renovated, routines we're still figuring out, and two little girls growing faster than I can quite believe.

I'm beginning to understand that I don't have to wait until everything is settled to feel at home in my life—or in my clothes.

I can start with what I have.

A favorite cardigan. A good pair of trousers. A drawer that finally closes.

And a little more room to become myself again.

Collected with Care- Collected with Care

As I continue to edit my wardrobe, I'm gathering the pieces I wear, love, and find worth keeping. A mix of longtime favorites, thoughtful basics, and a few considered discoveries along the way. Explore them here.