What I learned creating a capsule wardrobe
As part of my module on transitional design, I decided to construct a capsule wardrobe. The concept for a capsule wardrobe originally emerged in the 1970s; the idea is to pare down what you wear in a season to a limited number of choice items that you mix and match.
One website recommends selecting nine tops, five bottoms, and five pairs of shoes for your capsule wardrobe. Another recommends “around thirty items” of clothing. Whatever the arbitrary formula, the capsule wardrobe is a gateway to the minimalist lifestyle.
The Benefits of a Capsule Wardrobe
But why even bother? Well, in the hours it took me (more than four, actually) to construct my own capsule wardrobe, I had a lot of time to consider the benefits of this approach to personal fashion. For one, a commitment to minimalism really enhances my ability to focus.
I strongly believe in the interplay between external environment and inner peace of mind. If your room or desk is a mess, you’re more likely to feel overstimulated and lacking direction. When you’re anxious and distracted, you’re more likely to make those messes that go on to haunt your subconscious. A tidy environment is one huge step toward a tidy, focused mind.
The capsule wardrobe, then, is a project designed to streamline sources of subconscious chaos and distraction emerging from your bedroom closet. In the days since organizing my clothes this way, I’ve noticed a genuine boost in mood. Although a relatively small part of my daily ritual, my decisions about what to wear are remarkably less fettered—weighted down by a “tyranny of choice.”
Contrary to the thirty-one flavors approach to commerce (and life), less choice feels more and more like happiness. Besides, it takes energy and willpower to make decisions every day; I’d like to conserve some of that juju and direct it toward the bigger, more significant decisions in life. Decisions like, “What will I create today?”
Other than focus, another benefit of the capsule wardrobe is it stimulates my creativity. I do enjoy clothing as a medium of personal expression (competitive runner Kara Goucher in her book Strong describes her approach to “enclothed cognition”: invest in an outward appearance that stimulates your inward commitment to your goals); with less clothing options to work with, I can flex my aesthetic muscles as I mix and match.
I know, intuitively, what works on my body, so the capsule wardrobe concept spurs me to explore more deeply the versatility of each piece. Because I enjoy this activity—it feels playful—I do it without straining my daily reserve of willpower. Too many choices, though, and the sense of play goes out the window again.
In line with enhancing focus and stimulating creativity, though, a third benefit of the capsule wardrobe is that it encourages deeper appreciation for each item of clothing. With fewer individual pieces to work with, each one holds more value. I have a greater incentive to take better care of my clothes, to mend them, condition them, wash them properly … because they are all I have and I’m not keen on replacing them anytime soon.
How I Created My Capsule Wardrobe
My process for building the wardrobe was incredibly simple. First, I did an image search for “capsule wardrobe” and perused graphics of seasonal recommendations as well as general guidelines. With my own style and available clothing in the back of my mind, I selected two images as guidelines for a warm-season capsule and a cold-season capsule, respectively.
I’m partial to dresses, bright colors, feminine lines, and details. Since much of the capsule wardrobe advice centers on pastels, blacks and earthy tones, as well as ubiquitous items like oversize shirts and jeans … it was easy to eliminate these suggestions in my process of elimination. The few graphics left over gave me a clear sense of direction.
Next, I made my capsule selections. On my bed I laid out my favorite tops, bottoms, and dresses that would bear continual re-use through a season. I then consolidated these groups into a cold-weather pile and a warm-weather pile, and I whittled them down to five bottoms, nine tops, one patterned dress and one solid-color dress. These selections had to have a complementary color scheme for optimal mix-and-match versatility.
Into the cold-weather pile I added scarves: two colorful, two patterned, and one neutral color. I also narrowed down the warmest outer layers: a winter raincoat, a long blazer, a couple of jackets and a faux-fur vest.
It’s cooling off here in Nashville, so I hung up my new fall/winter capsule wardrobe in my bedroom closet. The summer capsule I carefully folded and packed in a labeled box. As for the unselected clothing, I had several decisions to make.
If the clothing didn’t fit, needed mending, or didn’t bring me joy, I tossed it into my bin of sewing projects and textiles ready for cannibalization. Some clothing, I realized, worked better as exercise clothing or pajamas. Those categories of clothing are safe from my capsule wardrobe downsizing—I have just about the perfect amount of each considering the regular use they get.
I still had a veritable mound of dresses, though, as well as heels I hardly ever wear, and a few sentimental items I won’t part with yet. These I packed away in another carefully labeled box. If I should want to swap out an item in my capsule wardrobe with a different one, I can do that. If weeks and months pass by without an inkling of longing for the spurned clothes, I’ll know I’m ready to let them go for good.
Finally, I also realized that my technical clothing for hiking and backpacking, including my hiking boots, deserve a home of their own. I only wear these things on special outdoor excursions or long stints doing farm work. In fact, the next time I have such an opportunity, I might as well treat my new box of wearable hiking gear as its own capsule wardrobe. Clean and simple. Tidy.
Well Worth the Effort
My experience creating a capsule wardrobe was more deeply affecting than I predicted it would be. I cannot open my closet door now without a palpable sense of relief. A weight is off my shoulders. A puzzle is there for me to tinker with each night (I decide on my outfit the night before, as part of my routine).
I’m especially intrigued by what feels like my new relationship with each item of clothing. I’ve run my hands up and down the seams, rubbed the fabrics, looking for signs of wear and signifiers of quality. I’m excited to see where this journey takes me: how far I can push the boundaries of my aesthetic with fresh combinations, statement-piece accessories, or creative mending. With fewer distractions, an eager desire to play rings all the more clearly.