Disclaimer: This article was originally written in July 2023.

On a day in January, cold and forlorn, I sifted through the markets at Glebe. Deterred by wind, the unpromising racks of the few stall holders which remained, bore no hope of anything warm and stylish. The last stall I saw before leaving the market was somewhat fruitful. I unearthed a pair of blue corduroy pants and a mock neck wool jumper in a similar colour. Upon reaching my front door, a subtle memory of a gray item left behind at the market greeted me.Fuelled by an intangible impetus, I found myself drawn back to the Glebe markets. Adrift in uncertainty, I followed the path laid before me, guided to the very stall I had visited before. There, in the centre of the rack was a grey swing coat, double breasted with a tartan interior. Beyond a mere garment, the coat imbued every winter day with style and sophistication.

A pivotal juncture unfurled with that momentous meeting, a crossroads in my exploration of style. I honed my eye for vintage pieces, assembling a coveted winter wardrobe adorned with treasures like an olive green woollen coat, glossy black buttons, and perfectly wide sleeves. Vintage Laura Ashley grey trousers, fur-lined leather gloves, a deep navy merino wool boat neck jumper, and patent leather oxford shoes became my prized possessions.

Yet, as the seasons change and the sun ascends, a bittersweet shift occurs. The heat demands lighter fabrics and more revealing cuts, signalling the end of layering and the parting of ways with my beloved winter collection. My soul-bonded coat and similarly sentimental pieces have pre-maturely migrated to the storage boxes in the overhead of my wardrobe; and while this sudden warmth is attributed to the boiling of the planet, wherein resides the more important concerns of ecosystems and organisms, I can't help but fear my own wardrobe and identity as another victim.

Currently, Australia is in the midst of winter, but this past weekend, the temperatures soared, reaching about eight degrees above the usual norm. Remarkably, this July stands as the warmest month worldwide in approximately 120,000 years. The global temperature records were shattered over the last couple of days, with parts of inland Australia experiencing a notable eight-degree increase compared to the average for July.

The limitations of seasonal wear caused by sudden warmth, and the confusion it breeds when transitioning into warmer months means winter pieces are exiled before their wearing potential is seen to fruition. I find myself in desperation, attempting to endure the heat through my carefully curated layers of blue merino wool jumpers and prized scarves of velvet and silk, only to reluctantly peel them away until I'm in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans by the end of the day. My black leather square-toe boots, perched longingly in the corner of my room, await their moment of glory, their block heels deemed too audacious for everyday wear, set aside for a special occasion that now seems perpetually distant. Many people have rejoiced at the sight of the sun, and I too can appreciate the warmer months and the shift in dress choices. The heat prompts new outfit constructions — shorter silhouettes, sheer fabrics, lighter colours, and the liberation of shorts and skirts. Yet, akin to the disorientation faced by birds and frogs in an early onset spring, my own preparation for warm-weather wear has been disrupted, leaving me yearning for a semblance of sartorial equilibrium.

Aside from the superficial dilemma of the early retirement of winter garments, this dramatic shift in climate will no doubt contribute to clothing waste and excess consumption. With winter clothing cast aside prematurely, many may feel compelled to replace their wardrobe with pieces more suited for the unseasonably warm weather. This can lead to a surge in impulsive purchases and a disposable fashion mentality, as individuals seek to keep up with the unpredictable climate. The consequence is an alarming increase in clothing waste, as garments that would have been worn and cherished during the winter months are now deemed obsolete, destined to gather dust or be discarded. This cycle of overconsumption and wastefulness further strains the environment and perpetuates a harmful cycle in the fashion industry. It becomes imperative for us to re-evaluate our approach to dressing and embrace more sustainable practices, promoting the reuse and repurposing of our winter wardrobe to adapt to the ever-changing climate. By curating a versatile collection of clothing and prioritising quality over quantity, we can minimise our ecological footprint and contribute to a more responsible and conscientious fashion landscape.

Fashion, an instrument of identity reinforcement, extension, and reimagination, has long been intertwined with the capricious dictations of weather. The elements play conductor to the symphony of our attire, orchestrating the hues, patterns, lengths, and textures that adorn our forms. The cyclical seasons act as architects, moulding the structure of our wardrobe, guiding the seamless transition from the frosty grip of winter to the blossoming emergence of spring. when this harmonious cycle is disrupted, our rotation of seasonal items is abruptly curtailed, leaving our personal style disjointed and our individual identity, once so perfectly attuned to these clothes of specific weather purpose, now fragmented.

As the seasons falter in their usual rhythm, our closets become a reflection of this chaotic dance between Winter and Summer. In this disarray of climate and closet, we find ourselves seeking harmony, a way to reclaim our sartorial identity amidst the flux of weather's whims. Perhaps it is time to rewrite the fashion script, to embrace versatility and sustainability, to let our style become a manifesto of resilience in the face of a changing world. For as we navigate the tumultuous seas of climate change, may our wardrobes be an ode to adaptability, a testament to the enduring power of personal style.

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