I do my best to mend these worn spots -
I cannot halt the course of decay forever,
yet I continue to stitch,
careful and meticulous.
I weave and remake, bent over in low light
to infuse you with this red wool.
Like blood, it gives you new life.
The sweater came to me in the summer of 2015 while I was living and working in Boston. It was the summer before my senior year in college. The city was hot and crowded but I was lonely. I was working at the Museum of Fine Arts for the summer and I had a self-imposed uniform of black clothing. For me, this uniform allowed for less decision fatigue in the mornings before work and it was professional while also employing lots of comfy jersey fabric. I could also get away with wearing a lot of the same clothes day after day without attracting much notice. After work I made a habit of taking the train to Davis Square to visit Buffalo Exchange and Goodwill in order to round out my wardrobe. One evening, as I was running my hand absentmindedly along the long racks of clothes the sweater leapt out at me. It was cashmere, such a soft and luxurious fabric - one that I had never owned before - and it was black, which meant it would go with almost everything in my closet.
I wore the sweater almost everyday that summer and into my senior year. It kept me warm in the frigid, air-conditioned basement office of the museum, and in the years since I can’t think of a life event or activity I haven’t worn it to; it has covered me at weddings, funerals, parties, concerts, hikes, picnics, and more. It has held me in moments of joy and despair, and all of the mundane moments in between. It must be in the running to be my most-worn garment. I’ve since collected several more cashmere sweaters and I wear them all year long; my favorite way to wear them is as a base layer right against my skin in the liminal seasons, layering warmer, coarser sweaters on top when the days grow colder.
Because of its heavy rotation, the sweater became the first garment in my wardrobe to require regular maintenance. Over the years, it has gotten snagged on branches and fences, and the fabric has worn thin in many places. I cut my teeth as a mender on the elbows of the sweater, learning lessons each time I sat down to darn it. I chose red thread to work with - a symbol of life and vitality. For 5 years I used solely shades of red to darn it, and as I approached this new year, I decided I wanted to track the years of wear and repair using different colors. Last night as I sat down to tend to the new holes and worn spots of the last year, I switched to pink thread, and I’ll think I’ll stay with that color for the next 5 years. I love the idea of the sweater slowly becoming a landscape painted with thread, abstract shapes blooming from the elbows and cuffs. Patterns of wear. Evidence of care. As always, the stitches feel like a form of magic, extending the life of a garment that is so like a second skin to me that I feel like I’m tending to my own wounds.
