I’ve always managed with what I have on hand.

Sometimes, when I decide that potatoes are a substitute for shallots (those are potatoes, right?), it leads to some very bad vegan meatballs. Other times, I avoid having to go to the store and end up with some perfectly good applesauce-for-oil brownies.

It doesn’t take an archaeologist to search for the fossil this came from: it’s called a scarcity mindset. But it’s also eroded this block of a human into something rather creative with a penchant for problem solving. I specifically can’t help but think of all those new seasons I shopped at Target and Kohl’s and JCPenney—those seasons that sprouted my love of style, of all things. Note how I did not say fashion. Here’s why, explained by math:

Fashion = good clothes + right time + lots of other ppl like them too

Style = what you have + what makes you happy + inspires your creativity

The full-price trends at the front of the store were off-limits when I was young. As we shopped for summer swimsuits (no bikinis until I had a job where I could buy my own) or school year khakis (no rivets, or outside pockets, and must accommodate a belt), we were relegated to the aisles of the clearance section. The approach was always to search the racks with the greatest discounts first, slowly decreasing the percentage off until we found what we needed. Those were the days of $17 being an investment piece.

Once I got my first real job, this pattern continued, and continues to this day. I would rather make do with what I can get (and make those pesky ends meet—do they ever? Yeesh). This desperate grip on my finances (also a pandemic) has me currently digging through my “to donate” bags in the closet and crafting new and quite brilliant outfits from old pieces. That’s how it’s always been: I’m not on trend because I can’t afford to be; I wear odd things that make me smile because it’s in the budget. I have “sale day at Goodwill” taste, and I am satisfied with it.

The universal experience of not getting what you want shows up so many different ways, from mild disappointment to real life and death. Mine was the former, even though as a teenager it felt like the latter. But it really did carve me into myself, in bad and good ways. In bad potato meatball ways, and in good “finding a shirt in roadside garbage that makes me cry happy tears” ways.

It’s okay to like to wear things, it’s okay to like to put a nice fabric on your body. It’s also okay to wear the same thing over and over and over and over.

And over again.

Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, put on your license plate shirt (the one that makes you cry happy tears), and realize, my God, you have enough shoes.

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