I have never not been interested in fashion, and spent a big part of my life shopping for it mindlessly. Whenever I liked something, I just had to have it, regardless of how often it would actually see the light, and working in fashion didn’t help the situation either. 

As a fashion editor you are constantly exposed to temptation: you start your day by checking lookbooks and press releases in your inbox, continue by stopping by a presentation, writing another round-up of must-haves of the season, handling all those it-bags and delicate leathers at photoshoots, and inevitably falling even deeper in love with this big sparkling world. Over time, my wardrobe grew so big that I didn’t always remember what was in it, yet I hadn’t fully seen the scale of the disaster until I moved abroad. 

Three years ago I packed what I thought was the bare minimum into two large suitcases and headed to Amsterdam, while most of my wardrobe remained in Moscow. Every time family or friends visited, they would bring along another suitcase filled with my stuff, and I did the same whenever I travelled back home. Three years later, my wardrobe still hasn’t fully relocated.

In the meantime, my environment, habits and daily life changed, and I kept buying new stuff to adjust to it. Cropped jackets instead of long coats that get stuck in the bike chain, roomier handbags capable of fitting an umbrella instead of small purses that barely fit an iPhone and so on. And while I was building the wardrobe for my new life, my closet was stuffed with things from the past that didn’t really work for that updated reality: heels that get stuck in the cobbled streets, boots and coats too warm for the mild Dutch winter, dramatic dresses that are fine for eating out in Moscow, but make you look overdressed in Amsterdam. It took me a while to accept that my life had changed and wasn’t going back, so one day I finally decided to let go of what didn’t belong there anymore.

I downloaded a popular resale app, and started sorting my closet. That was quite an insightful experience: finding pieces I had forgotten existed, something bought a year ago and still hanging with a tag on, even things I hadn’t worn since the move. Some were easy to say goodbye to, others either still held sentimental value or were a pity to let go because I liked them too much or splurged on them quite a bit. But the very first sales were a surprising relief and turned the whole declutter into a game: I was literally raiding my closet to see what else I could get rid of.

The euphoria it gave me was a combination of things. I was happy that stuff wasn’t falling on my head the moment I opened the closet, and I liked the idea that things I once loved could still bring joy to someone else. But above all, it just felt liberating. 

Later, though, another layer arrived. After a couple of months, I had earned enough money to buy a designer handbag with it, and that trade-off left me with mixed feelings. On the one hand, the maths behind my shopaholic mind was saying I had got a bag I wanted for free, because I bought it with side money accumulated from things I already owned but didn’t need. But then I calculated the original cost of the items I sold, and it was triple the price I eventually got from them. That is when it hit me.

I suddenly realised I had spent years making poor financial choices, buying pieces that I liked but didn’t really need, instead of using the same funds for something that would actually enrich my life. And I was determined to break the cycle. 

In the beginning of this year I challenged myself to limit my fashion purchases to a maximum of 12 pieces this year. To leave no room for negotiating with myself, I set a few rules: having a blacklist of things I won’t buy no matter how much I like them, not buying anything straight away to avoid impulsive purchases, and sticking to a set budget. 

Ten months into the experiment, and I have gone through every stage: from painfully learning self-control, to not wanting to buy anything, to spending hours browsing online stores just because I missed buying something. So far, I have bought only seven of the twelve pieces, and right now I feel more in control over my shopping habits than ever. 

This experience turned out to be almost therapeutic, helping me make smarter choices and better understand myself and my true needs. It also exposed habits I had never noticed before – like shopping to fix my mood whenever I am upset, or going for pieces similar to what I used to wear years ago when I feel homesick. My job still surrounds me with beautiful things, and I still love fashion. But I finally realised that some things are better admired from a distance and I don’t need to own everything I like.