Kimberlee K.

So often clothes are just clothes. They are sweaters and jackets and jeans that we saw online or on a rack in a department store or that were gifted because “it just looked like you.”

They are t-shirts we got on vacation or at concerts, shoes we got as a BOGO offer, or dresses we bought for the third or fourth summer wedding we had on the calendar.

They are things we find flattering, or that fit just right; things that reliably keep us warm or go with everything.

But for some reason, there is one item of clothing in my closet that always seems to have a story. Specific details of origin I can rattle off if given a compliment. Something that explains why, even though it’s thinning, the sleeves are ripped, and the drawstrings were long lost in the wash cycle, I still refuse to get rid of it.

These items are my hoodies.

Hoodies, to me, represent something safe, something I put on after I get out of my work clothes, something that can parachute me in warmth after an evening shower, something that can act as a hug when I’m sick and stuck on the couch.

Hoodies say, be yourself. They say, relax.

So I’m strict when it comes to adding a hoodie to my closet. They are like a little family in there.

And I thought I might tell you some of their stories.

I can trace this one back to an exact year: 2007. I got it on an Alaskan cruise my family took the summer before my junior year of high school. It’s raggedy and the sleeves are stained. Putting it on provides little more warmth than a towel or a plastic poncho designed for a water ride, and I pull it out whenever an activity calls for “old clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.” It’s tired. But every time I’ve cleaned out my closet, I’ve kept it. Maybe because the hood is perfect and can cover my whole head and my hair—even when it’s in a bun. Maybe because I like having a souvenir of a trip that has gotten a bit blurry over the years but still proves that, somewhere back there, I actually did go to Alaska. Or maybe because 2007 was a hard year for my family and I like having something that was there with me, something that has walked me through each year since. Something that knows.

—

On a trip to the mountain cabin that has been in my family for generations, I opened the coat closet in the guest bedroom looking for a jacket. We were headed for a walk around the lake and I hadn’t expected the chilly breeze, but I knew the closet was fair game. It was a collection of sweatshirts and jackets that had been donated, forgotten, or abandoned, always available to the guests if they got caught in a sudden snowstorm, a downpour, or just a colder than usual morning. I pulled on the black hoodie and my mom recognized it instantly. It had belonged to my uncle and had been purchased at a softball tournament they played in before I was born. Aside from the fact that it fit me perfectly, I liked having a little piece of history, something that knew my parents before I did. It made me look at my own clothes differently, wondering which ones define different parts of my life, and which ones might end up capsulized like this. Sometimes I scroll through my closet at home wondering what I would leave in the closet at the cabin; what someone might recognize as “me” and who might find it one day.

—

I am a sucker for the “add $____ to get free shipping!!” notification in an online shopping cart, and that is the only reason I own this hoodie. So much of my online shopping has been under the naive belief that if I found a specific t-shirt, pair of jeans, dress, or mini skirt it would shake away my introversion and insecurity and make me “who I was meant to be.” This has led me down many expensive, wasteful purchases that were mostly only exciting until I hit order, and in turn left me rather disappointed that a pair of shoes couldn’t untie the knots inside myself—turns out, only time and reflection can do that!

Still, along that journey and with the not-so-subtle prompting that I was only $15 away from free shipping, I added this hoodie to my cart, and it somehow became a part of me. After six or seven years of owning it, this hoodie now feels to me like what I imagine baby blankets feel like to adults—like I am somehow a little safer when it’s close to me. No matter what season or occasion I might be packing a suitcase for, this hoodie is inside. And whenever I’m sick, sad, or overwhelmed, I curl up in this hoodie like it is a friend.

—

In 2021, while mask mandates were still heavily in effect and the world still felt like it was mostly standing still, my sister and I went to visit some friends in Utah where we could spend some time outside. We were preparing to move into a new apartment, leaving a home we’d lived in for almost seven years, we had no idea when life would “return to normal” and I was talking to a guy who would string me along for far longer than I should have allowed. Life felt weird inside my house, and it felt weird outside my house. And as excited as I was to go on this trip, I felt anxious to step out of my routine. Thankfully, it took all of about five minutes to breathe in the fresh air, to float away from everything stressful and just hike, sit, chat, and marvel. It was such a bright spot in that weird blob we now collectively call “Covid,” and I remember sitting in the Salt Lake City airport feeling so light as I waited to board my plane. Across from me was a Hudson News, with snacks, books, and apparel on full display. One of which was a Salt Lake City hoodie, which I was almost certain was going to cost $100 if not more. But I just kept staring at it. So eventually I got up, walked over, and asked how much they were. “Those are on clearance for $20,” the cashier said, and I thought, of course they are. Because that’s how the whole trip felt—like for the first time in a while, things were going right.

Now, I reach for this hoodie every time I want that feeling back, when I’m too in my head, too focused on my body, or just need all the problems yelling in each of my ears to be a little quieter, to feel a little smaller. I’m not sure how a hoodie can do that, but it can.

They can all do something that seemingly no other item of clothing is capable of.