The French Five is Doable (and Other Lies I Tell Myself)

H&M coat (similar)
& Other Stories tee
Mavi jeans (c/o)
Minelli boots (similar)
Anthropologie beret
CHANEL handbag
RayBan sunglasses
Elizabeth Lyn Jewelry necklace
Elizabeth Lyn Jewelry necklace (c/o)
Maris Pearl Co. earrings (c/o)
Location: Manitoba Legislature – Winnipeg, Manitoba

Remember The French Five? Otherwise known as The Five-Piece French Wardrobe Challenge? I’m sure some of you do. I wrote about it frequently for a couple of years, at a time when I was consciously trying to make some of the wardrobe refinements that ultimately led to me giving up wearing anything but black, white and beige. To this day, most of the people who stumble upon Coco & Vera via Pinterest arrive here because of a repin from one of those old posts. And I get it. In theory, The French Five sounds like the perfect way to build an effortless wardrobe.

How do I know? Well, because I fell for it, too. I wouldn’t have written about it if I hadn’t. In my mind, the concept of buying only five special pieces per season and supplementing them with quality basics seems totally possible.

That’s because, in my mind, my shopping habits are completely different than they are in reality. We all have little lies we tell ourselves. On some level, we know they aren’t completely true, but they sound plausible and they make us feel better about what we might otherwise have to acknowledge are the questionable decisions we’re making. Most of my little lies have to do with shopping. I tell myself that I don’t do much of it, for one thing, but the number of online orders that arrive at my apartment on a weekly basis tells a different story. I think that I wear all the clothes I own, but then I open the side of my closet where I store dresses and stumble upon garments I forgot I still had.

But a season is six months long. In that time, I will spend at least half of my days feeling stressed about something at work. (When I’m stressed, I have a bad habit of treating myself to new things as a reward for “coping.” Which, I think we can all agree, from an objective perspective, confirms that I am not really coping at all.) On top of that, about once a month, I will have one too many glasses of wine with a girlfriend and, when I get home, press Check Out on at least one of my online shopping carts. (Usually Zara.) Invariably, just after I’ve done that, I’ll discover something I really need to replace… and add a couple of extra items into my cart. For the free shipping, of course.

All of that points to a lack of discipline that I am well aware of. But I am disciplined about my work. And my exercise routines. And my diet. Something has to give. And that’s okay. I’m not going to sum all this up by saying that self-flagellation is the answer. We don’t have to be perfect at everything – or at anything at all.  It’s okay to forgive ourselves for our little foibles, shoe-shaped or otherwise. The French Five isn’t doable for me – or for most people who love fashion, really. But what I’ve realised is that beyond not being doable, The French Five doesn’t really make sense as a challenge because you can’t force the right garments to come into your life at the right time.

Case in point; this trench coat that I’ve been babbling on about all year. I searched for the perfect trench for years. In fact, a trench appeared on my French Five list of “special pieces” more than once. But I could never find the one. The best I came up with was a cheap nylon version – I forget where it came from – that, while not being anything like what I wanted, at least kept me dry in rainy Vancouver. Season after season of The French Five, I was disappointed in my quest for perfect pieces and wound up giving up. And my perfect trench? It came along when I wasn’t really looking for it anymore. When I couldn’t really afford it. I bought it, anyway. And I regret nothing.

We all have tremendously high expectations of ourselves. And as a result, we spend a disproportionate amount of time feeling like we’re failing. Challenges like The French Five set us up for that. I am both a perfectionist and a planner by nature. I could list the myriad ways that I keep every aspect of my life in check, but you’d all stop reading long before I finished. What I am learning, slowly, is that sometimes, it’s okay to just tell ourselves those little lies and to believe them. After all, sometimes they can lead us to something wonderful – like the perfect trench coat, for example.