‘This skirt is an heirloom in the making’: why the clothes I love live longer

I have my mother to thank for the fact that I have an emotional attachment to my clothes. Mum has a stash of garments and accessories in the attic, spanning decades from the 60s onwards. If a trend had passed but she still loved a wool skirt or a pair of boots, she’d pack them away until such a time as she wanted to wear them again. In my teens, Mum would often announce that she had exactly the vintage item I was looking for in her treasure trove, though sadly it was often a pair of shoes, and we don’t have the same size feet. Nonetheless, it instilled in me the idea that when you love your clothes, you should keep them and care for them. Clothing serves more of a purpose than just covering our bodies; it is full of the memories it has experienced with us. I too have a box of sentimental clothes in my own loft, from the vintage towelling T-shirt I wore to see Blur play at London’s Mile End stadium in 1995, to my purple Converse All Stars that I got for my 13th birthday. They don’t fit me any more, but they’re far too special to throw away. Even better are the items – mine and my mum’s – that I can still wear, creating new memories as we go. There’s nothing better than being complimented on your outfit and saying: “Thanks, there’s a video of my mum wearing this blouse with me when I was one.” And key to this being possible is caring for my clothes – washing them less frequently, repairing them, using gentle and appropriate detergents, and storing them carefully. Here are a few of my favourite items. Dad’s ‘Mrs Neat’ knitted tank In the 1970s a friend of my grandmother’s called Mrs Neat knitted matching tank tops for my parents. Such was her skill with Fair Isle-style that I thought her name was actually Mrs Knit. Dad’s was a simple V-neck, while Mum’s was a slimmer fit with smooth, round buttons. Fast forward two decades, and teenage me was obsessed with Britpop and, in turn, vintage knitted tank tops. Mum clocked it, got the ladder out and produced them from the attic stash. I’ve worn them on-and-off ever since. Mum’s tank is a little snug on me so you’re more likely to see me wearing Dad’s. Thanks to the rainbow of wool that Mrs Neat used, this beauty goes with pretty much everything. I know Dad approves of these pinky-purple cords because he was wearing a similar pair with a pink shirt and no shoes when he first met my grandparents (it was 1968). I’ve only needed to wash this a couple of times; wool is naturally odour and stain resistant, so the odd hand wash with Ecover’s wool and silk laundry detergent is all that’s necessary. In winter, I pack the tanks away in airtight bags with cedar balls to keep the moths at bay and to ensure that Mrs Neat’s handiwork can continue to be admired half a century later. The first thing I bought after my no-shopping year In 2019, I decided to reset my relationship with shopping. In spite of having an emotional attachment to clothes for as long as I can remember, I was impulse buying more, and wearing things less. So I made a promise to not buy any new clothes for a year in order to remember what it was like to love the clothing I already owned. It was one of the best things I’ve ever done, and I’ve never gone back to fast fashion. I spent that year researching the independent, slow fashion brands I was going to spend my money with in future. Buying less meant I would buy better quality and spend a little more for clothes made ethically. I identified gaps in my wardrobe and allocated myself six items to buy in 2020. This gingham shirt, beautifully made from organic cotton, was the first. It goes with so many items I own, and I love it as much as ever. Cotton is easy to look after and washes well on a low temperature with a gentle detergent like Ecover’s non bio laundry liquid, but I do have a habit of getting make-up on the collar. It’s nothing a pre-wash paste of bicarbonate of soda and water can’t deal with. A little hack, passed down through generations, much like my heirloom tank tops. The skirt I got engaged in I bought this skirt in the summer of 1997. I LOVED it. I used to wear it with Converse One Star slides (why didn’t I keep those?) and vintage tees. When the mercury dropped, it still worked brilliantly with my winter wardrobe. I paired it with chunky Rachel Green-esque ankle boots and a brown V-neck ribbed knit. I seem to remember that the V-neck cost me more than I’d ever spent on anything, and I can only assume that it didn’t survive my student laundry routine since I don’t remember seeing it beyond 1998. The skirt, on the other hand, will probably outlive me because it’s made from 100% polyester and doesn’t seem to have aged at all in 30 years. And thanks to the elastic waist, which has slackened a little, it still fits me. I wouldn’t buy a polyester skirt now, but the best thing you can do with polyester clothing you already own is to wear it so it doesn’t end up in landfill. On the rare occasion the skirt needs to be washed, I pop it in a Guppyfriend wash bag to prevent microplastics being released into the water. Since this is what I was wearing when I got engaged in Paris in November 1997, I’d never dream of parting with it – another heirloom in the making. Let’s live clean Find out why Ecover® laundry products can help keep your clothes looking their best at ecover.com