Why my capsule wardrobe failed

And everything I've learned from it

Back in September of 2023 I had the closet clear-out to end all clear-outs.

I got rid of¹ at least 70% of my clothes — maybe a little bit more, actually — and enthusiastically declared that this was IT; I was going to be a capsule wardrobe girl for now on, and nothing was going to stop me.

At first it felt amazing. I felt free. Clean. Organized. Like I could finally think clearly again after years of feeling a bit like I was drowning in STUFF.

“This is brilliant,” I thought smugly. “I should have done this years ago.”

Then the regrets started.

My wardrobe after the big clearout

First it was that full-skirted black midi dress; the one I’d chucked into the ‘donate’ pile because, although I loved the way it looked on me, I’d never had an excuse to wear it. And I’m too pale to wear black anyway; it always makes me look like I’m at a funeral, and that wasn’t the kind of energy I wanted to take with me into my capsule wardrobe era, was it?

No. It was not.

So out it went; along with the wide leg trousers I’d rarely worn, the jeans that were just okay, but not perfect, and a whole bunch of other clothes I was convinced I’d never wear.

(I kept most of my shoes; partly because my shelves would’ve looked really weird without them, but also because I’m not a saint, okay?)

And then, about a year later, back a lot of that stuff came, most of it after lengthy Vinted searches to track down the exact same items I’d gotten rid of, only to realize that, actually, I did want to wear them after all. Who knew?

The lesson I learned from this was that just because I haven’t worn something yet, it doesn’t necessarily mean I never will; and that sometimes having a ‘just OK’ pair of jeans is better than having none at all — especially when, no matter how many pairs of replacements you order and return, you still fail to find a single pair you love.

But it was fine, I told myself. These were just teething difficulties. Soon, I’d have filled all of the remaining gaps in my wardrobe, and my capsule would finally be complete.

But, somehow, it never was.

No matter how hard I tried to convince myself I didn’t really need any more clothes, there always seemed to be something I had to shop for.

I realized this for the first time as early as December 2023; just a few short months after declaring myself done with shopping.

As part of my clear-out, I’d got rid of almost all of my ‘party clothes’, for the simple reason that I never, ever got a chance to wear them.

I’m a self-employed author. I live in a small village in the Scottish countryside, and I rarely do anything more exciting than the school run. Ever. What’s more, on the rare occasions I did get invited to something ‘dressy’, there was always such a big gap between those kind of events that I’d invariably end up buying something new for them anyway, because either my tastes would’ve changed since the last big event, or my shape would have.

So I got rid of all of the sparkly tops and evening dresses; all of the full, satin skirts, and everything with sequins on it.

There. It was done. I’d cleared a huge space in my wardrobe, and, once again, I felt lighter, freer, and really quite smug about it.

Then December arrived, and we suddenly started getting invited to parties. Lots of parties. More than we’d been invited to in the last few years put together, actually. It was weird. It felt a bit like I had two separate lives: my normal, 11-months-of-the-year life, and then my December life — which was completely different, and which required an entirely different wardrobe, which I now did not have.

Now, I’m sure someone more wedded to the idea of having a capsule wardrobe than I was would’ve had a solution to this; she’d have taken a simple black dress, say (or a pair of black trousers, in my case), and would have found twenty different ways to wear it, without spending a single penny on something new.

But, alas, I am not that person. And I’m here to tell you that, actually, when you have multiple events to attend — some of them very close together, and most of them involving roughly the same group of people — that single black dress/pair of trousers just isn’t going to cut it; or not if you’re someone like me, who cares a bit too much about what they’re wearing, anyway.

Not what I wore at Christmas…

Yes, you absolutely CAN make one item work in lots of different ways; especially if you’re wearing it to different types of event. Dress it up with heels and jewelry; dress it down with trainers and a denim jacket … you get the picture. But I found myself in the position of having to wear one particular item (which wasn’t particularly dressy to start with) to lots of very similar events (i.e. they were all Christmas parties, with similar levels of formality) — which is a little bit trickier. Sure, I could still have changed up the look with accessories, which are always presented by stylists as the answer to every sartorial problem. But … where am I getting all of these accessories from? How many of them would I even need to create multiple outfits? And how much difference does a pair of shoes or a handbag really make, anyway?

Honestly? Not a lot. If I’d worn the same black trousers to every single one of my Christmas events that year, you can trust me when I tell you that people would have noticed; even if I’d worn a different pair of shoes every time. They just would have.

So I shopped.

Quite a bit, actually; because, like I say, some of these events were literally back-to-back, and laundry is a thing, too, obviously. And, okay, I did my best to do most of my shopping on Vinted, but even so, I ended up buying quite a few new things, which, I told myself, would be an investment, because if next December turned out to be anything like this December was (Spoiler alert: it was), I’d be able to wear them again.

I basically had two capsules, now, I told myself: an ‘everyday’ capsule and a ‘party’ capsule. That wasn’t too bad… was it?

So, I got past December, and, for the most part, I managed just fine with my ‘everyday’ capsule — albeit I still didn’t have a single pair of jeans, and not many smart-casual clothes either, so I always felt a bit scruffy when I was doing anything other than the school run.

Then summer arrived.

Or, actually, it didn’t arrive.

One of the things I hate about living in Scotland is that we don’t really have seasons here; it’s just cold and wet all the time. And while that’s really, really bad for my mental health, it’s actually pretty good news for anyone wanting to try a capsule wardrobe here, because you can normally just wear the same things all year round, without ever having to change.

And that’s how it was for the first 6 months of 2024. That year was a particularly cold and wet one, even for us. We were all still wearing our winter coats in June, and I genuinely couldn’t remember the last time it had been warm enough for short sleeves. It was really easy to just default to my weekday uniform of leggings and a sweatshirt every day, because no one saw what I was wearing anyway (coats being basically an outfit in themselves), so even if I’d had the money to buy new clothes, there wouldn’t really have been much point.

But then we booked a holiday.

To Spain.

Where the temperature would be the exact opposite of the temperature at home, and I definitely wouldn’t be needing my puffer coat.

As with the Christmas scenario, I’m sure someone will tell me I could’ve made my capsule wardrobe work for this trip if I’d really wanted to. I’d kept a couple of lightweight dresses, for instance, and at least one skirt. I could’ve just worn them on repeat (‘changing up’ the look with ‘accessories’!) and washed them in the hotel sink every night.

I could’ve done that, sure.

The problem was, I didn’t really want to.

Summer holidays, after all, are the only time I really get to enjoy clothes, without having to cover everything up with a giant coat, and I was dammed if I was going to spend two weeks crouched over a sink, hand-washing everything I owned, either.

So I shopped again.

By the end of that summer, I basically had three ‘capsule wardrobes’:

1. The ‘everyday’ one

2. The 'party’ one

3. The ‘summer’ one

And, to be honest, there STILL constantly seemed to be things cropping up that I didn’t have the right clothes for.

So, here’s what I learned:

• Just because I haven’t worn it yet, it doesn’t mean I’m never going to wear it.

• If I get rid of everything that isn’t perfect, I end up with quite literally nothing to wear.

• It’s not as easy as the so-called style gurus make it sound to completely change the look of a particular item just by accessorizing it differently; and all of those accessories can end up costing just as much as buying something new

• The re-sale value of clothes is next to nothing, even for items that are brand new with tags. There are obviously exceptions to this, but, for the most part, I found that I’d list something on Vinted for what already seemed like a ridiculously low price, and then have people offering me £2.50 for it — which wouldn’t even cover the cost of driving it to the nearest post office. So the concept of clearing out your closet and making money from it didn’t work for me; I just ended up with no clothes AND no money.

• Buying second-hand can also end up being pretty expensive, because the fact that you can’t return things that aren’t suitable means you end up buying multiple items just to finally land on the one that works for you: and by ‘you’ I obviously mean ‘me’ here — I’m not sure if I’ve just been particularly unlucky with Vinted, but while I have had some bargains there, I’d say that, when you put all of the purchases together, including the ones that didn’t work out, it’s probably cost me more than I’d have spent if I’d just been buying new.

• The concept of only buying clothes you really love and know you’ll wear to death is a great one — until you realise how difficult (and sometimes outright impossible) it is to find something you absolutely love, and simultaneously realise that, well, you still need to wear clothes, even if you don’t totally love them.

• Tastes and fashions change, even when you think they won’t. Although I don’t consider myself to be ‘fashionable’, I am definitely guilty of being influenced by fashion, which means I don’t really believe there are ANY items of clothing I could buy and want to wear FOREVER. Even the things I consider ‘staples’ — like jeans, say, or t-shirts — will require subtle updates in order to keep them ‘current’ : and although that doesn’t always matter to me (I still wear heels for special occasions, for instance, even though I’m constantly reading about how ‘dated’ and unfashionable they are), there are times when particular items just start to look ‘wrong’ to me, and that’s largely due to changing trends, and the ‘adjustment of the eye’ that happens when something becomes ubiquitous. (Jeans are the best example I can think of here: I’m old enough to remember both cringing at the thought of swapping boot-cuts for skinnies, and hating the thought of having to give up my skinnies when they started to be replaced by wide-legs…)

And, of course, all of these are just excuses, really. As I said above, if I really WANTED to have a ‘proper’ capsule wardrobe, I’m sure I’d have been able to find ways to make it work. Lots of people do, after all. But, as I also said above, the main issue for me was ultimately that … I just didn’t want to.

That doesn’t, however, mean I’ve gone back to my old ways of shopping constantly, and without much thought. I would still rather have a small(ish) closet filled with things I absolutely love than a crammed one that’s bursting at the seams with stuff, and I’m very aware of how damaging the endless cycle of over-consumption is: both to the planet and to my finances.

At the same time, though, as much as I’d love to be able to say I only own clothes I love I’ve come to realize, that there are lots of things I love, but, until I can afford them all, or track them down, I’m probably also going to have to hold on to some things that are just OK.

So my capsule wardrobe era is over: for now, at least. (Now watch me change my mind about that in 6 months time…)

1. By which I mean I donated or sold most of them — I only ‘get rid’ of things in the sense of throwing them out if they’re no longer wearable