Two words that strike irritation, bemusement and, yes, fear into my heart: “capsule” and “wardrobe”. I see this term bandied about as if its is something I should aspire to. It means having a wardrobe of basic staples which all go together. A sensible idea you might say, but for me I don’t want a sensible wardrobe, I want an organically grown, flagrantly ludicrous wardrobe. Nobody needs to own more than, say, two hats and one pair of sunglasses, but that’s where the fun is. Ill-advised sequin bolero? Yes, lovely. Neon pink leggings? I’ll have some of them. I did spring clean my wardrobe for the first time in my life last year as it had started to become its own entity and was taking over my bedroom. A lot of Primark guff got thrown away and I did like the pruning, but my wardrobe still remains a bloated, illogical beast and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Having fun with what you wear is one of the best things about being a woman and I like to be able to express my mood and idiosyncrasies in my clothes. Capsule wardrobes, planned and purchased with military precision, do not gladden my heart. They’re taking all the joy out of a happy word with a dreary prefix. I wouldn’t like a “healthy macaroon”, say, or a “tax audit Prosecco”. That is capsule wardrobe sounds like to me.
Capsule wardrobe: why?