When I love an item of clothing I wear them to death. I always have done, when I was little I remember having a bright purple pair of corduroy flares (No too dissimilar ones in these pictures funnily enough). I wore them daily, until the stitching gave way and my mum made me throw them out. I still wear my clothes until they have holes in, these converse tend to leak when the Great British weather gets a little damp but I love them so much that I can’t bear to swap them for a new pair. I get such an emotional attachment to clothes, a lot of pieces in my wardrobe hold memories in their folds. They carried me through first dates, muddy festival fields and through temples in SE Asia. I love them because of the memories they hold rather than the style they give me.
These flares don’t yet have too many memories held in their stitching but with the amount of wear that I’m currently getting out of them I’m almost certain that they will be full of flashes of happiness in no time.