I used to save my favorite clothes for a version of my life that never showed up.
The blazer stayed in my closet because it felt “too professional” for a normal day. The heels were waiting for a dinner I’d yet to be invited to. The earrings were longing for an occasion that felt important enough to justify wearing them. Meanwhile, I wore the same outfits on repeat — to work, to run errands, to all the places where my actual life was happening.
I wasn’t saving them for a rainy day. I was saving them for the perfect one. The problem was that “special occasion” never came.
It wasn’t just about clothes
This habit wasn’t limited to clothes. I treated everything the same way. A Sephora gift card sat untouched in my drawer, waiting for something “really worth it.” I rationed my favorite lip gloss as if it were a limited resource. I refused to light my favorite candle unless the night felt special enough to deserve it. I even held onto the last spritz of my discontinued One Direction perfume for years, as if saving it could somehow make more.
The special occasion is always vague — an imaginary fancy dinner, a future milestone, a celebration that exists only in theory. So I wait. Years pass. The things I loved enough to save start to feel untouchable. By the time I consider using it, we’ve waited so long that it feels wrong to start now.
Looking back, it sounds dramatic, but at the time, it felt practical. Why waste something nice on an ordinary day?
Then one day, the thought hit me: why am I living my life like a waiting room?
It felt like I was saving my life for later
That mindset didn’t stop at my closet. Saving a jacket for the right moment slowly turned into saving fun for the weekends, saving joy for later, saving happiness for a version of life that felt more legitimate than the one I was already living.
I realized I was treating weekdays like something to get through instead of something to participate in. When I did the math on how many days I was mentally skipping, it felt less like discipline and more like quietly wasting my life away.
So I stopped waiting.
I started wearing my favorite pieces on regular days
The shift was small at first. I wore blazers to the bars. I strutted in my nice heels to run errands. I put on the earrings just to go to the grocery store. Not for compliments, not for Instagram, not to prove anything to anyone, but because I liked how it made me feel.
The clothes didn’t lose their value because I wore them. They gained it. Each piece started collecting moments and memories instead of dust. Now, when I reach for something I love, it reminds me of a workday that felt a little lighter or a Trader Joe’s run where I found my new favorite snack.
That’s the part people tend to dismiss as “romanticizing your life,” a phrase that’s been flattened into internet fluff. But this wasn’t about pretending my errands were glamorous or turning my Mondays into Fridays. It was about presence. About intention. About letting regular days count instead of treating them like placeholders.
If I’m being honest, it changed more than my outfits. Work felt less like something I had to endure. Errands felt less like chores. I stopped waiting for permission to enjoy my life. I started dressing for myself instead of an imaginary audience or a hypothetical future. I even started liking Mondays.
I realized the dinner counts. The errand counts. The workday counts. And if the opportunity does truly come? I’ll wear those pieces again. Clothes are meant to be worn more than once.
The special occasion didn’t disappear. I just stopped waiting for it to arrive.
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