When I was younger, we went to the Albert Cuyp market with my aunt, mother, cousins, and sister. I’d found this red skirt and t-shirt set that I was absolutely in love with. It had a flower motif, and I remember feeling so pretty and magical in it. I was very different from my regular tomboy attire, but somehow I persuaded my unconvinced mom to buy it for me. I told her, when she said yes, “This is going to be my new favourite outfit.” To which she responded, “You will only know that when you throw it out.”
The reversed quantification of admiration was groundbreaking for me. And I was mesmerized by that remark. It stuck with me for a very long time. I wore the outfit a lot. Maybe because I had something to prove, but probably also because I really did like it.
I remember wearing it with blue flower Crocs; those truly were the days. And when it finally got thrown out (probably just handed to my younger cousins), my prediction had come true: It had been one of my favourites.
Many years later, I told my mom about this story, and she felt bad that she had responded so skeptically to my love at first sight. I didn’t care and felt there was a lot of truth in what she said. Like in many love songs, with so many of our favourite items, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone (or broken). And like a great love, you can’t really just go looking for your next favourite item; often, it finds you.
In this case, I’d simply grown out of the red set. But taking care of and repairing clothes is a forgotten act and craft. Your grandma probably would have sewn an extra inch on the skirt and would have worn it still. Although it’s beautiful that the end of a relationship can truly make you realise what you had. Sometimes it’s even better when you don’t have to regret throwing out one of your favourites.
Maybe the question should be: How can we better enjoy something’s value before we have to throw it out?
