I loved it at first sight.
Beige. Textured ribs. A simple silhouette. Recycled and organic fibers.
When Amour Vert dropped the Lucinda sweater tank earlier this spring, I heard my name being called. I’ve been eyeing summer-friendly but office appropriate pieces, but for $138, I hesitated majorly. Maybe I’d wait for a sale, I thought. After all, Memorial Day was coming up…
But other shoppers didn’t hesitate, and before long the sweater tank was sold out. Surprisingly, it was relatively painless moving on with my life sans Lucinda tank. But all the same, despite not having jumped on it when I could, I signed up for the “notify me” email in case it came back in stock.
I thought about the tank a number of times, but the thoughts for the most part were along the lines of Look at me, I didn’t buy the tank and my life is fine.
More weeks pass.
Then, an early morning email. Lucinda Sweater Tank is now available to order from Amour Vert.
There it was, a size small, back in stock, someone’s hapless return. Should I buy it?? I’ve been thinking about it. Surely someone else will snap it up if I don’t.
And snap it up they did. Within an hour, the single back-in-stock tank was gone.
And that’s how I didn’t buy this tank, twice.
It’s a lovely garment. The ones I don’t buy always are. This one is even practical, unlike some of the items I’ve lusted after. So why didn’t I buy it? There’s two big reasons.
Shopping secondhand makes buying new harder
The more I immerse myself in secondhand shopping, the harder it is to buy new, especially at full price.
I’ve bought other garments this spring, mostly secondhand, mostly linen in beige or white and patterned with hairline black stripes (it’s the look I’m into now, what can I say!). They were all purchased at a fraction of the price I’d have paid new, including this Eileen Fisher linen/cotton box top that I snagged for $13 (probably at least $150+ new).
While there’s absolutely still a spot for the Lucinda tank in my wardrobe — a simple but elevated top, sleeveless but not revealing, neutral but interesting — I keep hoping I can fill that spot with a secondhand find. It’s hard to bite the $138 bullet after having tasted the $13 version, even if there’s room in my budget.
Then there’s the fact that every time I buy new, I feel sort of guilty for buying new. Maybe in a few months, or hell, a year, I’ll spot this very Lucinda tank for sale on Poshmark, calling my name. That’s exactly what happed the other day with the floral Mango jumpsuit I didn’t buy last year. I’d suddenly thought about that jumpsuit, got curious, and checked Poshmark for it. Would you believe it? I fucking found one.
Back when I wrote about the jumpsuit, I said I couldn’t bring myself to buy one new from Mango not over the price but over my aversion to fast fashion. I said I’d keep my eye out for a secondhand version. But now that I’ve found it, I don’t want it. I don’t think I wanted it then either. I wanted the idea of a matching floral jumpsuit I could twin in with my friend, but not the actual thing.
So did I want the Lucinda tank, or just the idea of an elevated neutral but interesting tank? Well I think I did actually want this tank, but this brings me to…
Life goes on!
Life always goes on. I always continue to wear clothes. I continue to feel some degree of unrest over the state of my wardrobe. There is always something I’m chasing (right now it’s nice basics that won’t suffocate me in the Atlanta heat but will transition well to the frigid office). It’s the thrill of the hunt, really. Even when I can have the thing, I don’t get the thing.
Does it mean I don’t really want it?
It just means I’ve reached a point where I don’t let myself get too attached to anything, especially things that aren’t even mine, like things I haven’t yet bought.
It’s important to get to this place, the place where you are fine whether or not you buy the shirt or the jumpsuit. There are way more important and fulfilling things in my life that aren’t tank tops so I don’t want to waste mental energy on a square of fabric with some good armholes. Maybe it’s cliche and reductive to fall back on this line of thinking — and it doesn’t take away the sting of wanting — but it’s what I need to tell myself in order to avoid obsessing over something, some THING.
If you are lucky, life is long, and there will always be something else to want.