is it because of my obsession with fashion that began as a child reading Vogue, and later reading Women in Clothes and Worn Stories that I look at my clothes and remember the things that happened when I was wearing them, or is that something completely normal that everyone does? I wore that floral skirt on my first trip to Universal, that pair of black skinny jeans reminds me of a rainy Sunday morning in June and an August evening concert. my light blue Converse low tops carried me around during my first trip to Florida, and then after stepping off the plane in Chicago, downtown through a blizzard at midnight in the middle of the street with a thirty-pound suitcase. the tulle skirt I wore to my first niece’s baptism was worn a year and a half later while walking around an art museum before my car died later in the day. that red dress has seen a Valentine’s Day, a Christmas, and a song-inspired photoshoot on the bridge. a couple days ago, I wore a shirt and later in the evening realized that I was wearing it exactly six months earlier at one of the most beautiful places I visited this year. there are things that I won’t get rid of even though I refuse to wear them because of the memories attached to them.
sometimes I allow myself to let things go if they’re going to take up too much space once they are unwearable. my favorite pair of Steve Madden leather riding boots came into my life four years ago, nearly to the day. I ruined them in the salty slush on my first solo trip (to Minneapolis) years before they carried me up and down a mountain on a horse in Ecuador. in between, I wore them in Florida and all over Door County, during every SBSF, DS, and LOH. the zippers would jingle when I walked, which annoyed me as much as it amused me. sadly, one of those zippers broke beyond my repairing ability during SBSF this June and I was filled with deep sorrow to throw them away, even though it meant that I would finally allow myself to buy a pair of long-coveted Frye boots.
the memories stitched themselves in between the threads that hold everything else together.
a photographer with the desire to hide behind the camera a little less and let the light shine through.