2021 | A Year of Fashion in Review

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When I was younger, and newly working, I used to tell my dad, “I’ll start saving for retirement after 2012 – as long as the world doesn’t end.” It was a joke, of course. My career had just begun and a future in which it was already over seemed so remote that the idea of saving money for it was almost abstract. I was too young, I thought, to plan to be so old. I couldn’t fathom that part of my life yet, never mind plan for it. And there were so many more exciting ways to spend my meager earnings, anyway.

I did start saving for retirement, of course, as soon as 2013 rolled in. I keep my promises. And in the years that followed, it made sense. The path ahead of my was a long one; I expected a few twists and turns along the way, but I knew, more or less, where I was going.

Now, in the last days of 2021, my Instagram feed is full of snapshots of vision boards created by hopeful women planning for the year ahead. I’ve seen photos of my own pop up in a few of them, and it’s humbling to think that my work might inspire others to dream of the future. But I can’t sit down to create one myself. Two days ago, I got my third COVID-19 vaccine. Shortly after, I read an article about Israel’s new study into the possibility of administering a fourth dose. The numbers are inverted – it’s 2021, not 2012 – but I feel much the same way this year as I did nine years ago. My future beyond tomorrow seems abstract, and planning for it feels very much like planning for probable disappointment.

I know where I’m going, more or less. But the path to get there is in ruins.

Don’t get me wrong – 2021, while not the year I wanted, brought some beautiful, long-awaited moments. We finally got back to Paris after two years away. We both started new jobs, took on new challenges. But we also spent months in lockdown. It was another year of missed celebrations, cancelled social events and hesitant gatherings. I bought clothes mostly out of habit, fully aware that my opportunities to wear them would be rare. Unlike 2020, this was not a year of solitude and introspection. It was a year to pass through, hopefully unscathed, on our way to the next. I’m glad to be able to say we made it. But I find myself with little to say beyond that.

“Later will be too late. Our life is now.”
– Jacques Prevert

There is a lesson in all of this somewhere. Something about the fact that the idea that we have control over our lives is just an illusion, probably, although I’m not entirely sure. What I do know, as 2021 ends, is that I won’t get this year, or the last one, back. And whatever I think the next one will bring, I’m likely wrong. But I have to resign myself to that and go on living, anyway. These two years have flown by so fast, with so little to show for them. That future that seemed so remote to my younger self will be here before I know it. And when I get there, I want to be able to look back with fondness.

I don’t feel able to plan for the future, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Because maybe, without plans made and boxes to check off on a to-do list, I’ll be able to simply live it, instead. Maybe I’ll end up where I want to, or maybe I won’t. It’s the journey that matters, as they say. And I hope, wherever 2022 takes me, the journey will be a memorable one.