CAN A DIGITAL WARDROBE MAKE ME MORE SUSTAINABLE?

DAY 2

Instead of reaching for Floor Top as usual, this morning I’m excited to go to the app and find out what fanciful combination I chose for myself last night. The answer is high-waisted flared jeans, a pussy-bow blouse that I haven’t worn for years, and a cable-knit sweater vest; slightly ‘cosplay as a background extra from Mrs America’, but I’m not mad about it. In fact, without getting, like, way existential, I feel more like my pre-pandemic self than I have in months.

Spurred on to expand my options, I start uploading accessories. Belts, headbands. Shoes! Oh god, I miss shoes. Having spent the past year exclusively in Birkenstocks, hiking boots or slippers, adding the full breadth of my footwear collection feels like fantasy gaming (a nice pair of gauntlets?). But there’s a pleasure, too, in remembering that I don’t have to pull on the same pair of muddy Grensons for my daily walk. I could wear heels! I mean, I won’t. But I could.

DAY 3

This evening, instead of swiping mindlessly through shopping sites or having my self-esteem gently exfoliated by Instagram, I scroll my own wardrobe instead. It’s surprisingly fun. I compile looks (‘Off-duty Dynasty’; ‘Reclusive potter on Suffolk minibreak’), group them by different occasions, and share with my best friend the way we used to in high school. The location tag is fairly moot just now (‘Home’; ‘Home’; ‘Asda’; ‘Home’), but it’s nice to dream of a time when I can save myself stress by plotting ensembles for busy days (busy days!) in advance.

DAY 4

By my fourth day I’m on a roll, with 74 items uploaded and my outfits (meet ‘Bookish milkmaid’, a daring combo of puff-sleeved dirndl blouse and Fair Isle sweater vest) growing more adventurous by the day. Much like a Pizza Hut salad bar, the process has started to feel vaguely competitive: trying to get my money’s worth, layering up as many items as possible without accidentally creating something disgusting. Could this outfit take a groovy hair scarf? Dare I add a brooch? There isn’t currently a mechanism to ‘reward’ me for piling extras onto an outfit like bacon bits, but at least my boyfriend has started looking up when I enter a room again.

DAY 5

More than 100 pieces saved, and just seeing the number on my home screen is enough to silence the little voice that wails “I have nothing to weeeear” each morning. But in the process I’ve also discovered that up close, my wardrobe is a full-on Monet. So many things are creased or grubby or full of moth holes. My favourite shirt has a coffee stain down it, and a beloved leather skirt has a broken zip that goes up, but not, crucially, down. So I head to Save Your Wardrobe’s directory and request a quote from Clothes Doctor to fix it (£18, 7-10 days). Now I just need to take it off.

MY VERDICT

It’s hard to do Save Your Wardrobe justice right now, because it’s hard to do our wardrobes justice right now. But even in these Extreme Casual times, I’m surprised how much the app has shifted the way I feel about my clothes. By essentially gamifying the process of getting dressed in the morning, I’m compelled to clock up more wears on neglected items, and feel proud when I hit on a new way to style something.

SYW is also a lifesaver for those of us with limited space, allowing you to calmly browse through everything you own without a giant heap of clothes to deal with afterwards. And by providing cold, hard data on what you have already, it makes it so much easier to identify the gaps in your wardrobe when shopping.

There are improvements to be made (at times, the app is – and I swear this is my last Clueless reference – totally buggin’). An update at the end of this month promises new functionality, such as insights from resale and rental sites on how much your lesser-worn items might be worth. But sometimes the best ideas are the simple ones, and even without the bells and whistles (note to self: bells and whistles??), Save Your Wardrobe has the potential to help us all love our clothes a little more.