Practicality is a great floor. It’s a terrible ceiling.

The difference between knowing something isn't for you—and talking yourself out of something that is

Side note (yup before the official article begins): I might be starting to sound like a tech bro after 15 years in tech, but I really do think the title works so roll with it please?

Second site note, I am so nervous to publish this one because it could read as me being unaware of the privilege I have in being able to afford these items. This is probably at the top of the pyramid when it comes to champagne problems, especially given the state of the world. But you’re here to go deep into what drives personal style, so here we are. I request you to read with an open mind. I have used concrete examples here because they are recent. Do try to not overindex on those items itself, and more on the concept.

Ready? Let’s go!

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I posted about the Tibi peplum belt recently. You know the one.

And the comments came in. A lot of them were some version of: can you sit in it?

Which. Okay. I get it! It’s a structured PVC belt. How comfy could it be! These are not unreasonable questions.

But here’s the thing that kept nagging at me. Some of you wanted that belt. I could feel it through the screen. And the sitting question wasn’t really about sitting.

@astahearts

Asta | Chill Commanding Style on Instagram: "Yall, buy it, don’…

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There are two very different voices that both say “I don’t think I can get that.”

The first one is Discernment. This one is calm and knows when something is just not for you. It says that’s not my thing and moves on without drama. Discernment is actually a gift. It’s knowing the difference between taste and style. It’s years of knowing yourself, compressed into this inner knowing.

The second one is Limitation. And limitation is sneaky, because it sounds like practicality. It doesn’t say I don’t think I deserve that (too obvious, you’d catch it immediately). Instead it says: but will it wrinkle?

@astahearts

Asta | Chill Commanding Style on Instagram: "I mean, I’m not ev…

I wore a voluminous pleated skirt every day for a week. The comments were so telling. Will it wrinkle?(probably) Is it versatile?(yes) How do you sit?(on the pleats) Can you machine wash it?(probably not) Can you pack it easily?(yes but it will take up space). All reasonable questions! All questions I have also asked! But when I read them together, back to back, here are the two things that I am trying to reconcile:

• I often get told that people love my closet. Some of it is the quantity, I get that. But a lot of it is also the pieces themselves. And I promise you, if you approach those pieces with a list of 10 practical concerns, they will fail on at least 1-2 of them.

• People automatically eliminate anything that doesn’t meet their list of 10 practical concerns.

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Now. I want to be careful here, because I am not about to tell you that practicality is bad and you should just buy everything that makes you feel something and ignore your actual life.

If your life genuinely requires maximum ease—you’re running at full speed, you need clothes that can survive your schedule without asking anything of you—then filtering for practicality isn’t a limitation. It’s a rational, intelligent strategy. Build your wardrobe that way. Own it. Truly.

But.

If you want expansion—if you have a restlessness about your closet you can’t quite name, if you keep saving things to your phone that you never buy, if you look at certain things and feel something move—then practicality has quietly shifted from being your floor to being your ceiling. And most people don’t notice when that shift happened.

Practicality started as a tool. Then became a limitation.

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Here’s what a wardrobe built entirely on practicality looks like: fine. It functions. Nothing is precious. Everything goes with everything. You can throw most of it in the wash. It all makes complete sense.

But also, you miss that zha zha when you’re getting dressed.

When every single item has to pass the same checklist (machine washable, wrinkle-resistant, wearable at least three ways, appropriate for at least two contexts, comfortable for twelve hours straight), you haven’t built a wardrobe. You’ve built a uniform. A very sensible, very responsible, completely beige-in-spirit uniform. Regardless of its actual color.

The peplum belt doesn’t pass that checklist. Neither did the skirt, based on my comments section. Neither do a lot of things that make getting dressed feel like something more than a problem to solve every morning.

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I want to address the very real concern of the investment here. Both the pieces I mentioned above are not cheap. I totally get the concern of “it must hit every point in the checklist if I am gonna drop $400 on it”. But but but…the question I ask is..must everything? Is it better to have 3 pairs of perfectly practical $400 each black pants? Or 1 kinda practical $400 belt? What adds more to your closet?

Goes without saying but I will say it anyway. I gain nothing from you buying the belt or the skirt or whatever. I do not monetize my content in any way, I have no horse in this race. Actually, I take that back. I do have a horse in the race. YOU! And every woman who wants to add interest to her closet. Ok forget the $400 belt, come up with your own bar for where you will draw the line. Is $100 OK to add interest? $50? And gut check how that compares to black pants fund.

Let me ask you this very clearly: If you are here, you are probably privileged enough that you don’t actually NEED new clothes. Let’s say your total budget is $100 for the year. Now, if you are also looking for expansion in your style, are those $100 better spent on something entirely practical? Or something that is pushing your closet, is pragmatic(in that it is usable) but maybe not hitting every single criteria on the checklist?

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Next time you’re looking at something and your brain immediately floods with logistics—but where would I wear it, but is it practical, but will it last, but can I sit in it—just pause for one second.

Ask yourself honestly: do I actually not want this? Or do I want it, and I’m looking for reasons that make it okay not to get it?

Those are completely different situations. One is discernment. One is you, quietly protecting yourself from wanting something a little too much.

Both are worth knowing about.

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Here’s the audit I would suggest you do. Go open your closet (yes, now, or later, but actually do it). Look at it honestly. Not to judge it, just to see it.

Is there a through-line of sameness? Not in color necessarily, not in silhouette. In risk level. Are you looking at a collection of things that all passed the same checklist? Things that are all essentially pre-approved, pre-justified, pre-explained?

And then: when did you last buy something just because it made you feel something? Not because it was versatile. Not because it was an investment. Not because it works for the office and the weekend. Just because you saw it and something in you said yes.

If you’re struggling to remember, that’s your answer.

Growth requires a little bit of “I don’t entirely know how this fits into my life yet, but I feel pulled toward it anyway.” Your style cannot evolve if every single thing has to make complete sense before it gets a chance.

Sometimes the most interesting thing in your wardrobe is the one you had to talk yourself into.

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What’s the last thing you bought where you relaxed some of your checklist? And how did it go?

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Also, if you’re looking for relatively less spendy, and more sustainable ways of adding interesting pieces to your closet, I highly recommend following some of my fav authors and curators here:

Vintage Shopping Your Way to Matthieu Blazy's Chanel

Sorry Edna, we need more capes.

Duck Fat vol. 66