clothing

The oldest functional piece of clothing I own was purchased nearly 7 years ago, when I was a wee high school senior visiting prospective colleges. After a few hours on the Denison campus, I was totally, completely, head over heels in love with it and insisted on buying a sweatshirt in the campus bookstore. This sweatshirt has seen me through seven years of winters, seven years of chilly summer nights. It's a plain gray sweatshirt with DENISON emblazoned in faux navy suede letters and some very pretty embroidery, sized XXL.

It was probably too big for me when I purchased it and it is definitely too big for me now since I wore it through the years when it was too small for me. The cuffs on the wrists are tired, the cuff on the bottom even more so. It doesn't even provide that much warmth anymore, the jersey matted from having been through dozens upon dozens of washings over the years and packed, tight, over and over again into suitcases. It is made of some sort of super fabric, since any and all errant stains have always washed right out with ease. I have a lot of pictures of me in this sweatshirt--it's what I wore when my friends and I took final pictures before leaving for college. It is what I reached for, again and again, when I couldn't face all the ill fitting shirts and blouses I owned during college. I have worn it through friendships and candlelights and hours of drudgery at the office and summer concerts in the park, fall frolics around the block, camping in three different states, countless air and car trips and relationships and hook ups and entire life stages. It's what I wear when I really need to reach for comfort, for something comfortable. There is comfort in familiarity.

This sweatshirt is far past its prime and yet, I can't really imagine ever stocking a closet without it.

I think of this sweatshirt, sometimes, when I am stepping into my prom dress. Oh, I know it's cliche--all women supposedly want to fit into their high school formal wear forevermore--but I am seriously looking forward to the day I can zip that plummy-magenta shot fabric with tulle skirt all the way up, baby. In another 20 or 30 pounds, it ought to come together again and I might very well give away that beautiful dress. But I guarantee I will still reach for my sweatshirt from time to time.