In a world of minimalism, it can feel a little daunting to talk about maximalism. I’m not quite sure if that’s a real thing, but I’m talking about the aesthetic of excess, also known as capitalism, greed, and materialism. It’s all of those things, as many of us like having things. But I recently thought more specifically about clothing and the clothes I can’t seem to let go of. I have so many pieces of clothing that I never wear, and yet I can’t relinquish their spot in my closet. It’s not everything; other things I happily send off to Goodwill or stick on Vinted for half its original price. But there are a few items of clothing I hold onto, year after year, unwilling to abandon their potential. I finally decided to explore why that is.

I aim to clean my closet twice a year, usually when transitioning from winter to summer and back again. I am by no means a minimalist (cue laughter from everyone who knows me and my shopping coping mechanism), but I like to try to clear space. I find it hard not to buy new stuff, so the least I can do is eliminate some of the old.

But each time I do it, there are two or three items that always come up in my "to go" pile, like recurring characters on my favourite TV show. I confront myself on the fact that I never wear this revealing top or adorable mini skirt. I acknowledge that those jeans don't fit me and haven't for two years now. I firmly put them in the donate or sell pile, but at the last minute, they make a comeback, and they inch over to my “keep” pile. Despite my better judgement, they're shoved back into my closet with the promise that this time I'll actually wear them. This time, it'll be different.

But just like returning to a shitty ex and their promises, it's never actually different.

By the time my next closet clean-up rolls around, plenty has changed around me. Low-waisted jeans have crawled back from obscurity and mockery. Lindsay Lohan is starring in movies again and even returning for Freaky Friday 2. Crocs are cool again, if they ever were the first time. But what hasn’t changed is those same three items I still haven’t worn. But do I throw them away? No.

Why can’t we let go of those select pieces of clothing that we never wear? What is holding us back from our Marie Kondo dreams of minimalism? I have some theories.

1. Sunk Cost Fallacy (Clothes Edition)

I’ve discussed the Sunk Cost Fallacy a lot in terms of toxic relationships, as I myself fell victim to it, but this might be the first time I’ve applied this logic to clothing. A quick recap: the Sunk Cost Fallacy expresses how a person won’t abandon a strategy or commitment because they’ve invested heavily in it, even when abandonment clearly would be more beneficial.

You don’t leave your partner of four years because you’ve put so much time and years of your youth into them. You keep building roads in a game of Catan because you already spent so many resources chasing the Longest Road bonus. You refuse to throw away that mini skirt you never wore because you spent far too much money on it, and this would make it a waste. Even though keeping said skirt crumpled in a corner still means you’ve spent that money on it. You don’t want to sell it and lose half the amount you spent on it, because that would be a waste!

Humans will do anything to avoid admitting they’ve screwed up. We’d rather keep pouring resources, or precious shelf space, to an item than confront the fact that we were wrong. We were fooled by an Instagram ad. We were lured into the possibility of looking like Gigi Hadid does in that skirt.

2. The ‘What If’ Of Clothing

I am very guilty of this line of thinking. It’s likely related to anxiety in some way and planning for every worst-case scenario. Clothes are never just clothes. At their core, clothing is supposed to be about covering your body. If that were the case, we’d wear potato sacks or identical shirts and trousers every day. Clothing is expression, identity, wealth, and so much more. Love it or hate it, clothing matters to us more than it should.

When we buy an item of clothing, we’re purchasing a possibility. Often, it’s a safe line of thinking, like, what if I wore this shirt with that pair of jeans I love? What if I made this part of my go-to office ensemble? What if I became the kind of person who wears matching lingerie? (Never).

I keep plenty of things just in case I ever have a themed party, never mind the fact that I haven’t gone to a party in over a year. Maybe I’ll suddenly need a tiara, a pair of jeggings, or a beret. I have elegant dresses for all the weddings I could be invited to attend. Heels for the formal dinners I might suddenly be interested in.

Sometimes, that possibility stretches a little thinner, and we buy items we’re not convinced of. We buy a pair of denim shorts even though we can’t stand the sight of our legs. We buy a crop top knowing we’ll tug it down the entire time and resent any photos taken that evening. We buy a jumpsuit and then never wear it because of the hassle it takes to go to the toilet. These are impractical purchases, perhaps, but also hopeful ones.

It’s the part of you that buys a matching yoga set to convince yourself to go to classes. It’s the part of you that buys a gorgeous bikini and hopes to be brave enough to wear it this summer on the beach. Marie Kondo might not approve (not sure why I keep name-dropping the poor woman), but I get it. I get that you want to believe in yourself. We’re working to love and nourish ourselves, and that seems easier in something that makes us feel pretty.

But it’s a hard line to walk. Suddenly, you’re keeping a crop top in case you get abs overnight. You diligently hold onto those jeans in the hopes of losing weight and being able to button them again, even though you swore off crash dieting. I’m a decade further from the worst part of my eating disorder, and yet I still find myself dreaming of a smaller body and the clothes that would fit it.

Dress for the body you have now. Love the body you have now. Love the clothes you put onto it.

3. Dreams in the Lining

This might seem similar to my ‘What If’ point, but please bear with me, as they are different. My previous explanation centred on the hope of being able to wear those clothes in the future. But by ‘Dreams in the Lining,’ I’m referring to the possibilities held by clothes in general.

It’s not always about fitting your clothes physically, but also fitting them mentally. That dress might literally fit over your body, but do you feel good in it? Do you comfortably strut into a room or slink into the background?

One of the tops I can’t help but keep each time is a crop top with long draping sleeves. It gives witchy Stevie Nicks energy. It feels bold yet playful, revealing yet mysterious. I want to be the kind of woman who wears that top regardless of the tummy roll when she sits down. I want to be her so badly. But each time I put it on, I doubt myself and my chances of being that woman. I don’t feel like Stevie Nicks, I feel like myself, like that’s all I’ve ever be.

But I can’t get rid of the top. Not because of the money I spent, as it’s been years since I found it tucked away in a store, and I don’t even remember what it cost. But because I can’t let go of my dream of being her, being that confident person, being more than I am now. I’m not dreaming of changing my body to fit this top or the other items I cling to; I’m dreaming of changing my mind, my perception of how I look, my confidence with fashion.

What if my life radically changes and I suddenly attend galas and fancy restaurants? I’ll need something to wear, of course. What if I stop wearing the same Uniqlo set and actually experiment with fashion? What if I let my thighs and tummy run free this summer?

Clothing holds more than price tags and sketchy linings; it holds possibilities of the person we could be. I wish I could say that you don’t need the clothes to be that person. You don’t, really, but how will you show the world without the right uniform?

All I can say is that you should never keep clothes in the hopes of changing your body. You have a bikini body, a miniskirt body, a tight trousers body, just by existing in your body. Clothes should feel good. They should feel comfortable while also being a chance to express yourself. If you’re not wearing something, then that likely won’t change by sticking it in your closet again. But that being said, if you want to wear something, then do it, be that person. I’ll try to be a witchy Stevie Nicks in my flared crop top, and you wear whatever item you’ve been clinging to, and we’ll pave the way forward — how does that sound?