On dressing to be forgotten, and the small freedoms of a small wardrobe.
For the past three years I have worn, more or less, the same five things. Two pairs of trousers, three shirts, one coat for winter, one for the rest of the year. The list is short enough to memorise.
I did not arrive at this by conviction. I arrived at it by exhaustion — by the small, daily fatigue of choosing, and the realisation that the choices were rarely worth the energy they took.
What I have found, in the years since, is that a small wardrobe is a kind of quiet. It is one fewer voice in the morning. It is one fewer decision before the work begins.
I do not recommend it as a discipline. I recommend it only as a relief.