The Clothes You Can't Let Go Of? Keep Them.

Why attachment beats minimalism, with our Expert, Jennifer Heinen.

There’s a blouse I wear when I need to remember I’m not alone.

Tiny black polka dots on white.

Sleeves that bunch at the wrist.

A collar that sits a little too tight at my throat.

It doesn’t fit right. It never did.

But I reach for it anyway.

It was my grandmother’s. And when she died in 2019, I couldn’t touch it for months. It hung there like a question. Like a door I wasn’t sure I had the right to open. Grief makes things holy that never asked to be worshipped. But eventually I did touch it. I put it on.

And what I found wasn’t just fabric: it was a feeling.

It was her. And, strangely, it was me, too. The blouse doesn’t fit perfectly. The sleeves bunch, the collar snug. But that’s not the point. The point is that it holds me. And when I wear it now, it’s not nostalgia. It’s an anchor.

I’m Jennifer Heinen, and I’m a fashion psychologist, which means I study the link between what you wear and how you think, feel, and behave. I started fourteen years ago as a custom tailor, became a designer, and worked for years as a personal stylist. Now I run STYLMYND, host the Style My Mind podcast, and write The Style MYᴺᴰ Edit on Substack.

My work has been featured in Forbes, Glamour, Vogue Business, and CNN. But more importantly, I’ve sat across from enough people - seen enough tears fall onto expensive sweaters and stretched-out hoodies - to know this:

What you wear isn’t just about how you look. It’s about who you’re becoming. And sometimes, it’s about who you’ve been. And what you’re not ready to let go of yet.

The problem nobody talks about?

The slow fashion movement tells us to buy less, buy better, invest in quality. And I’m not against that.

But there’s a dark side no one talks about: the pressure to purge. Declutter your closet. Get rid of what doesn’t serve you. Only keep pieces that “spark joy” or fit perfectly or align with your “aesthetic.” And if you can’t let go? You’re cluttering. You’re holding on to the past. You’re stuck. But what if you’re not stuck? What if you’re tethered?

In fashion psychology, we call it enclothed memory - the way garments carry emotional significance, sensory markers, and identity traces.

Clothing doesn’t just cover the body. It becomes an extension of the people we love. The versions of ourselves we’ve been. The moments that shaped us. When they’re gone, or when we’ve changed, their clothing is often what we reach for first. Not because it makes sense. But because it feels like something that still holds them. Still holds us. And when a piece of clothing holds that much? You don’t replace it. You return to it. Again and again. Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s yours.

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During the pandemic, I lived in clothes that had give. Stretchy waistbands. Oversized sweatshirts. Anything I could pull on without thinking. I wasn’t dressing for joy, I was dressing for survival. I had gained weight. I was depressed. I barely got out of bed. And when I did, I reached for what asked the least of me. What wouldn’t remind me that my body felt different, that I felt different. And I know many felt the same. Some started their perfect workout routine, while others just tried to survive the day. I was part of the latter.

My wardrobe reflected it. Pure chaos. Nothing folded. Nothing steamed. Laundry piling up so high it felt like shame made tangible. And with each unworn, unwashed piece, the weight of my own internal unravelling grew.

But even then, when I had only 10% to give, I gave those 10%. That was still everything I had. And those oversized sweatshirts? They held me when I was breaking.

According to every minimalist guide, I should have purged them the moment I felt “better.” Too stretched. Too attached. Too much evidence of a version of myself I was supposed to move past. But here’s what they don’t understand: Those sweatshirts are why I’m still here.

Fast Fashion thrives on emotional detachment.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

The fashion industry doesn’t want you attached to your clothes. They want you bored. Dissatisfied. Constantly searching for the next thing that will finally make you feel put together. They want your wardrobe to feel disposable - so you keep buying. But when a garment means something? When it’s tied to a version of yourself you’re not ready to let go of, or a moment that shaped you, or a person you loved?

You don’t replace it. You repair it. You rewear it. You let it breathe.

And that is the actual antidote to overconsumption. Not minimalism. Not capsule wardrobes. Not buying “better” things.

Attachment.

Jennifers’ Polka Dot Blouse. Image Credit: Kaya Dawkins

I’ve worked with people who wore hot pink while grieving a parent. Not because they were over it, but because they weren’t, and the colour helped them feel alive.

I’ve worked with people who wore black every day for five years. Not because they didn’t care. But because they cared too much and had no other way to carry it.

I’ve worked with people who wore oversized hoodies in the heat of summer, because the idea of being looked at felt like violence. Because fabric felt safer than skin. We are not what we wear. But what we wear knows who we are.

Our clothes remember the nights we didn’t sleep. They carry the shape of the weight we’ve carried. They hold stains from the breakdowns we couldn’t schedule. They stretched for us when no one else did. So before you donate that stretched-out sweatshirt or those jeans that don’t fit quite right anymore - pause.

Don’t ask yourself “Does it spark joy?” or “Is it on-trend?” or “Would it photograph well?”

Ask yourself:

● What has this piece held for me?

● What would I lose if I let it go?

● What is this piece doing for me?

● Is it holding you when nothing else can?

● Is it tied to a version of yourself you’re not ready to release?

● Is it carrying memories you don’t want to lose?

Because if it is? Keep it.

Even if it’s ratty. Even if it doesn’t photograph well. Even if no one else would understand why it matters. Your closet isn’t a showroom. It’s an archive. And the pieces that hold the most emotional weight? Those aren’t clutter. They’re lifelines.

What Does This Mean for Sustainability?

Real sustainability isn’t about buying the right things. It’s about recognising what you already have, and why that matters.

The polka dot blouse I’ll never wear but can’t let go of? That’s not clutter. That’s tether. The oversized sweatshirt from my lowest point? That’s not something I need to “move past.” That’s survival made fabric.

When we talk about slow fashion, we focus on production: ethical labor, quality materials, and transparent supply chains. And that matters.

But we skip over the consumption side: Why do we keep buying? And the answer is often this: because nothing we own feels like enough.

But what if the problem isn’t your wardrobe?

What if it’s that you’ve been taught to see attachment as weakness instead of recognising it as the thing that makes clothing irreplaceable?

The more emotional weight a garment carries - the more memories, identities, and moments it holds - the less you need to replace it. And that, more than any capsule wardrobe or ethical brand, is what stops overconsumption.

I’m not telling you to never buy anything new. I’m not saying you have to keep everything forever.

But I am saying this: Before you purge, pause. Ask yourself what work each piece is doing. Not aesthetically. Emotionally.

Because the most sustainable thing you can do isn’t buying better. It’s recognising what you already have - and letting it stay.

Shop your closet first.

Not because you should.

But because it already knows you.

And in a world that’s constantly trying to sell you a better version of yourself? That might be the most radical act of all.

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A huge thank you to Jennifer Heinen — fashion psychologist, big sister energy, and the voice reminding us that clothes are never just clothes — for sharing her expertise with us.

Through The Style MYᴺᴰ Edit, Jennifer unpacks the psychological and societal weight behind what we wear, challenging the idea that fashion is “superficial” and exposing how that narrative is often used to dismiss women entirely. Her work invites us to look deeper at the emotional and systemic truths woven into our everyday choices.

Find Jennifer through her Substack The Style MYᴺᴰ Edit, on Instagram @style.my.mind, TikTok @stylmynd, or at www.stylmynd.com.