Origins
Photo Courtesy of Soniya Chopada
My mother went to college in the late ‘80s in the city of Pune, Maharashtra, India; “ready-made” clothes were unavailable and uncommon. Instead, my mother grew up going to the tailor, not the department store, for clothes. Her and her sisters would make a day trip out of the experience; twice a year, they would go to the tailor’s store where they would select fabrics and accessories and sift through catalogs containing patterns for all the latest styles of salwar kudtis— Indian blouse and pant sets that were popular womenswear at the time. After hours of measurements and choosing fabrics and buttons and dupattas, the three of them would leave the store having designed five new outfits to be worn for the next six months. A month later, each sister’s customized looks would be ready.
As a mechanical engineering major, a computer applications major, and a civil engineering major, my mother and her two sisters had a particular affinity for math. They devised a formula to maximize each of their wardrobes; each of them got to buy 10 sets of blouses and pants a year. If they combined their collections, the three of them had thirty outfits total. With six days of college and thirty outfits to choose from, each sister could go at least a month without repeating an outfit. Factoring in the outfits created from mixing and matching sets, outfit repeating became extremely minimal. They used their knowledge of calculating combinations to keep their closets trendy.
“My friends always thought I was so fashionable, because I was always seemingly wearing something new. As a young girl in a new college, it definitely boosted my self-confidence.”
There were rules to this system, to “keep the peace,” as my mother said. After an outfit was worn, it was the last wearer’s responsibility to get the garments cleaned and ironed within a few days of wearing so that it was readily available for the next sister. Outfits made of synthetic fabrics did not easily stain, so they could be worn anywhere, but outfits made of cotton were borrowed with a lot more caution.
“The way the shared closet worked, each garment belonged to one person and the other two sisters were borrowing that outfit. When I would wear something that belonged to one of my sisters, I took extra precautions…It forced me to take better care of my clothes in my day to day life.”
My mother and her sisters shared their clothes like this until they left home and split up after college to move to the United States. The ritual isn’t completely dead, though— my aunts’ visits to our home in California usually include a designated time of trading dresses and jewelry and accessories with each other. Now that I am in college, I’m constantly reminded of my mother and her sister’s practice. When I borrow my roommate’s dress before a night out, or a sweater for class on a cold day, or a pair of stocks when I run low in between laundry loads, I think of my mother and her sisters’ communal closet.
