I do this thing where I buy an item of clothing that I know I love, that I know I will get wear out of. Then what happens? It hangs in my wardrobe, sits in a drawer...because I daren't break it in. Like a new notebook or perfume, no occasion is ever special enough to warrant the first wear or use. The first drop of ink on the page, the first pop of the bottle top, the ceremonial removal of the tags.
Clothes hang in my wardrobe for days, weeks, months, and the love I feel for them grows so much that I almost cannot bear to wear them. They become symbolic of a moment in time that must be preserved at all costs, an outfit I was going to create with them that, because of weather or time, never comes to fruition.
But no more, I tell you. No more buying beautiful things and declaring you'll save them for special occasions. If you're going to spend money on something, you've got to make it worth your while. You've got to love them enough to wear them.
So a fortnight after I bought these trousers, despite fully intending to save them until October, I took the tags off, and wore them for three days in a row.