Of all the things I've got rid of - how important is my name?

I should warn you today's post has nothing to do with clothes, but don't worry - Friday's post will be back to normal.

Over the last few months I've been living with a lot less stuff as a result of the challenge. I've sold some items of clothing that I've loved and felt a real attachment to. This has led to loads of discussions about clothes and feminism with my friends. And it led to one really meaningful question - what was the most important thing I've ever lost?

And I have to say it's my name.

I have a real relationship with what people call me. I believe strongly in people claiming their own names and yet I took my husband's when I married. What does that mean for my sense of identity?

I was born Elizabeth Ruth Charlotte Pearce, the youngest of 5 girls. My mum strongly wanted us to be called by our given names: Karen, Vanessa, Nichola, Julya and Elizabeth - no shortenings no nicknames. And so I was Elizabeth, not Lizzy, Libby, Liz, Beth nor Betty all throughout my childhood.

But by the time I left school I was known as Ed Pearson.

Ed came from a love of the film My Fair Lady, and a close affinity with Eliza Dolittle. As a teenager I went to a school with a wide social intake, loads of the people in my classes came from private schools, and being around these people was a real eye opener. The girls allowances allowed them to buy clothes (lots of them); and the school trips were skiing, watersports and cruises and people actually went! It was madness. My parents had to scrimp and save to afford my bus fare to this hour away grammar school and then in my classroom were people whose lives were completely different from mine. And who thought their lives were normal.

As an adult I've spoken to a number of people whose families were in a similar situation to mine and we've all talked about how weird and alienating it felt to spend time with teenagers who weren't aware of how much the food in the cupboards cost, these people weren't super rich - no one had a boat, or a spare cottage in France but they were largely from families who would describe themselves as 'comfortable'. When they came round after school I'd watch them eat more than the allocated 2 biscuits from the tin and know the impact this would have for the rest of the month on my mums painstakingly budgeted larder. So I felt different - and like most teenagers I didn't want to. So I tried to 'pass', I used the money from my paper round to buy market rip offs of the Topshop clothes my friends wore, and I learned to adjust my accent to the people I was talking with.

I still do it now (unconsciously) my voice gets posher around posh friends and deeply northern when I'm in Sheffield. So Eliza Dolittle became my nickname and that became Ed, and now that's what everyone calls me. I could have dumped the nickname at any point. But I haven't, I took it with me to Sheffield and to China and to every job I've ever had. It doesn't speak to me of the insecure 13 year old who mimicked the clothing and accents of the people she wanted as friends. It speaks to me of the ambitious and socially confident person I've become, the person that is friends with both some frightfully posh people who went to excellent schools, and with loads of people whose families were more like mine. It speaks of the person who is now happy to admit that Die Hard is her favourite Christmas film, and that she'd rather play air hockey than go to the theatre. Someone who is actually really comfortable with herself. I'm not at all ashamed of where I've come from- I am happy that it doesn't define me, any more than it does any of my friends.

So the name Ed is mine in a way that Elizabeth is not. While I love the people I love calling me by my childhood name, Ed is the name that I recognise as who I am now.

So what about my surname?

When I was about 7 my mum met the man I've considered my father ever since. He and my Mum were both single parents, they were introduced by two of their older children, and began to spend time together because their youngest children (Me and Zoe) were the same age. Zoe was 6 months older than me and in many ways much more confident and social than I was, but we became friends quickly and one night in the back of Daddy's space cruiser hatched a plan to become sisters. 

Simply I would call her Dad "Daddy", and she'd call my Mum "Mummy" until they pulled their fingers out and got together. And somehow magically it worked, this summer they renewed their vows after over 25 years of marriage.

I'm incredibly grateful to have Dave in my life - I talk all the time with friends about the impact our relationships with our fathers have on our choices of life partner. I have a wonderful husband, and every man I've dated, slept with or had an unrequited crush on has been essentially decent and treated me well. Some of my very best friends are men, and I haven't got that suspicious attitude to them I see some women possess and largely that's because I expect them to be decent, and like me, and value my sense of humour because the man who raised me did all that, and it's what I'm used to.

So I'd informally taken Daddy's surname by the time I started secondary school, refusing to answer to Pearce when the register was called, and writing Pearson on the top of every paper I ever handed in. I was devastated when my teacher told me regardless of my wishes that my GCSE certificates would have the name Pearce on them. It felt like a death knell - would I really have to carry this name around - that I didn't want or feel any affinity to - for the rest of my life?

So I went home and cried and yelled, and told Mum I was sick of having a different name on my passport than the rest of my family, and basically had a big old paddy. And when I calmed down we had a proper conversation about how when I was 18 I could change my name to anything I liked. But I didn't want to wait, so despite the fact that my biological father had the right to make a case against me changing my name, we went to court. And in a surprisingly quick (and disappointingly undramatic) session, the court agreed I could change my name to Pearson at the age of 15, in plenty of time for my GCSE's and A-levels to have the name I chose on them.  

So the name Pearson meant (and means) a huge deal to me. So why did I 'take' my husband’s name when we married?

Traditionally that change of name is about ownership right? Like crossing someone else's name out of your biology textbook before writing your own in. And that - when you think about it is pretty grim. So why am I a mouthy outspoken feminist now using the name Archer?

I want to be clear now that this is not an article saying that people should or should not take one another's names when they marry. Personally I'm happy with the arrangement we have now - where every woman (and man) takes that decision for themselves, for whatever reason feels meaningful to them. This is just about why I did.

I got married at 24, and by that age had already proactively changed my whole name, what I was called felt relevant to choices I had made, and like it was in my gift. I'd chosen a father, a city, friends who made me happy, and now I was choosing a man who I really loved. 

A man to whom I wasn't promising any of the traditional weddingy things to, he wasn't going to get worshipped or obeyed. I wasn't intending to ask his permission or approval for any life choices I made. In fact the wedding was no more and no less than my stated intention to continue to be his best friend for the rest of our lives, and actually even that came with a caveat - because I believe the option of getting a divorce is a wonderful thing for women, and I am a strong advocate of unhappy marriages ending. I believe we live once and have a responsibility to be happy.

So I didn't 'take' Matt's name, I gave away my own as a gift. As a show of faith that actually I was happy to share a name, and tie my future and my career to this man, that I did believe this was a lifelong choice. As a demonstration that I was prepared to compromise, and to respect the traditions his family valued out of love for them and for him.

Do I regret it? No.

Archer is another choice I made. A choice to have the same name on my passport as my closest family (which he now is), and for me the right choice for this stage in my life.

Do I miss Pearson? Yes sometimes - but giving away something you don't value isn't much of a gift now is it?

Today's post is a bit different - but hopefully it's made you think about what you are prepared to go without for the people you love. Which means it is probably a good time to remind you that parents of disabled children go without new clothes to make sure their children's needs are met, they also go without heating. The counting the costs report is here and here is where you can donate.

Is this too easy? Let's make it harder....

“You don’t make things easy on yourself do you?”

Honestly I feel like someone says this to me at least once a week. Not just in relation to the challenge but everything I choose to do….

When we first got Squeak, she ate my sofa and both of my armchairs, tore up skirting boards and freaked out every time she was left alone for 5 minutes. I of course immediately adored her, but several friends asked me why on earth I’d want to take on a dog that was such hard work.

But not my best friends mum, she’s known me since I was eight and to her it made total sense “Of course you’d take on a rescue dog, and a clumsy, anxious one at that. You’ve always found easy things boring” – and she was right.

 

Squeak - showing off her appetite for destruction!

That sofa Squeak ate – did I buy it from a shop and have it delivered ready to go like a normal, sensible person with a full time job would? Of course not. I bought a second hand vintage suite, went on an upholstery course and spent 6 painful months taking the chairs apart and putting them back together. We sat in and enjoyed the chairs for maybe 3 months before we got Squeak……

The thing is Squeak has been worth the sofa, and the changes to our life, the expense, the vet’s bills, and the constant worry about if we are giving her a good life. She has an amazing personality and has repaid us tenfold in love and laughter for every effort we put in. And actually I’ve found that about almost everything I’ve ever worked hard at (except maybe that sofa – that I will admit was a momentous waste of time). If I have to push myself to do something then I value it, I almost always learn something new and I LOVE learning.

Squeak - worth the effort for food cleaning up support alone!

I hit the 100 days mark on the challenge on Monday. In the last 100 days some awesome things have happened – 2 weddings, several engagements, trips to the zoo, family parties, nights away with Matt, at work there have been award nominations (lots of them!), interviews, events, conferences, round tables – a really busy, challenging and rewarding 100 days. And through that 100 days, 23 items of clothing worn, a photo taken every day and 38 posts on the blog.

And I’ve learnt LOADS about myself. But maybe not enough – because last week I made a decision that will bring me great joy – but is going to make this whole challenge that little bit harder. In January I’m going to take a month off work to travel around India.

I am hugely excited about this – I love India and it’s been a decade since I was last there, I’m going with a friend that I love dearly and who makes me laugh so much I snort things out of my nose.

And so mainly I’m excited - but there is a teeny tiny part of me that is (very) worried about clothes. I have 12 items left to add to my year’s allowance (13 if you guys decide to let me swap the broken sandals for the new pair I got). And as everyone who’s seen Game of Thrones knows – winter is coming.

In my summer wardrobe I didn’t include a single long skirt or lightweight pair of trousers- both of which I’ll need in India, I’m also going to need another long sleeved shirt – ideally these will be lightweight as it is going to be hot.

But winter here? Christmas? February? (Especially on return from a hot country) – That’s going to be cold. So I’m still going to need winter boots, a flannel shirt, a couple of long sleeved t-shirts, a couple of jumpers, a coat, a warm skirt, a second pair of jeans, a hat, scarf and gloves – oh and something to wear to Bob and Laura’s wedding. Which the mathematicians amongst you will notice is 16 new items, out of a maximum of 13 things I can buy between now and May. And that doesn’t leave even a tiny bit of wiggle room for things wearing out.

So I’m going to have to think about this really carefully – how cold is it likely to be here this winter? Do I need a winter coat or will I be able to get away with layering jumpers under my Mac? What about if the jumpers are long sleeved? Can I manage without gloves?

I think it’ll be doable (just). But it isn’t going to be easy – of course not – everyone knows I don’t make things easy on myself!

*A huge thankyou to everyone reading the blog. At the time of writing this there has been a hugmongous 18,500 page views. I’m loving hearing from you all – keep the comments, tweets and messages coming! And remember I’m doing this whole shindig for charity so if you feel moved to donate you can do so here.

Enjoy your weekends.

Liking yourself is a rebellious act

So yesterday marked the 3 month point on my challenge. I am now a quarter of the way through the year, halfway to my funding target and 66% through my wardrobe allocation.What I've worn every day so far can be found on the Day by Day page.

I thought I'd think less about clothes while living through this challenge - but actually I find myself thinking about them more. I notice myself looking at people on the tube and asking myself what they are communicating (both intentionally and unintentionally) through what they choose to wear.

One of the things I've found myself really enjoying are people who are really enjoying being creative with their look and just seem really bloody comfortable with themselves in it. I found this awesome image which basically covers why I like seeing this so much over on Broadist's blog

(image belongs to hugclub)

I think this image could be a bit of a talisman for everyone when shopping, to remind us to ask ourselves; "Am I buying this because I feel inadequate and think it'll make me more acceptable or because it'll bring me actual pleasure?", and then to only buy the stuff that will actually bring us joy.

What do you think?

Finding hardwearing sandals to last all year - how hard can it be?

So if you’re a regular reader you’ll remember that about a month ago I posted about my sandals dying. 

Now it is always annoying when a pair of shoes you love finally give up the ghost but for me this was an even bigger deal than usual because these sandals were one of 5 pairs of shoes I’d allocated myself to wear over the whole year of my capsule wardrobe challenge and the only open toed pair.

I don’t know about you – but I really can’t bear having sweaty feet, or even feet that are slightly warm – so I wear sandals pretty much from March to late October every day except if it rains (boots/ trainers) or I need to look polished (high heels). I bought myself a pair that had fairly thick cork soles just before I started the challenge, and felt pretty confident they’d last all year.

Given that you’re reading this post you’ve probably guessed – they didn’t. (you can read about how they died & me having a moan about it here)

Technically when an item breaks I can ask you to vote on whether I can do a straight swap for a similar item. But I felt like asking to do this 2 months into the challenge wasn’t really cricket. After all what’s to stop me ‘wearing out’ everything in the capsule? So no. I might come back and ask later in the year if I’m really struggling but in the meantime I decided that I could sacrifice a winter jumper for a new pair of sandals. But these needed to last a full bloody year!

So my requirements were (I thought) pretty reasonable. All I wanted was comfort, durability and not being so ugly that I hated myself everytime I put them on. In an ideal world I wanted to actively LIKE the way they looked but I figured that wasn’t essential.

I started by googling hardwearing sandals, walking sandals and durable sandals. I got pretty predictable results here, so Merrel and Keen walking sandals in colours that would be guaranteed to distract people from anything I’m saying. (“didn’t hear a word of her presentation over the screaming of those yellow shoes”). Don’t get me wrong I am a huge fan of walking sandals – but not to wear to work everyday for the next 6 months .

A friend recommended Camper and Ecco sandals so I ordered a couple of pairs online, I also ordered some L’Arche sandals ( oh they are lovely – but oh are they expensive. Too much for dirtying up on North East London pavements certainly).  Had a bit of a Goldilocks moment with 5 pairs of sandals in front of me with all of them being too big, too small, too ugly or too narrow – so I sent them all back.

And still had no sandals. 

So I got on with wearing the broken one’s which still hurt and (added bonus) had leaked gummy glue everywhere since the insoles melted in the sun. Everynight I had to go at my heels with a nailbrush to get rid of the gunk. This did not make me feel my most attractive ever!

And then one of my friends told me about Duckfeet. Apparently people in the 70’s wore them for years wandering around south East Asia and they still make them exactly the same way! I love their classic designs and they are so comfy. These are my lovely new shoes.

I’m really hoping that they last the distance cos if they do – these are going to be my 36^th Birthday present to myself.

Roll on May 2016….

Capsule query - Do work clothes 'work' at a wedding?

I went to Sheffield for some friends’ wedding reception last weekend. The whole do was steam punk themed and in my normal life I would have used this as an excuse to go bonkers on a costume, however the challenge didn’t offer me that option – so instead I had to pick something already on the list. I went for my green silk dress and black heels. I thought because I looked wedding appropriate that I’d get away with it, but it turn out what I wear is as much about how I feel in my clothes as how I look in them.

Day 78 -Me & Donna at the wedding

When I began this challenge I thought a lot about how I could make sure I had clothes that looked right for all of the occasions I might have to go to. And I think I’ve done pretty well with 23 items so far to cover looks appropriate for all sorts of occasions. What it turns out I hadn’t thought about was that I buy clothes for the impression I’m trying to make in them, and that wearing the same dress to a wedding as I wear to speak at conferences might cause me some confusion.

I bought the dress I wore to the wedding just over a year ago to wear to speak at a conference, since then I’ve worn it to several more conferences, meetings at government departments and with trustees, events at Westminister, donor meetings and other professional settings. This dress has become my sartorial ‘safe pair of hands’ outfit. I wear it almost exclusively when I am trying to exude trustworthiness, reliability and good sense.  And because I wear it for this sort of thing, it has become a part of my armour – I associate particular behaviours with it and weirdly I find it more natural to live those behaviours when I’m in it. In this dress I stand a little taller, talk a little slower and swear a whole lot less.

Which is perfect for work based occasions. But this weekend I wasn’t at work. I was with my husband and a load of friends I have known since I was a teenager, celebrating a wedding in the back room of our local pub. The behaviours expected of me in this environment are really very different and I was struggling to make the transition.

People kept asking me if I was ok and I kept telling them that weirdly I just didn’t feel able to let go the way I normally would. I felt like I was at a professional event – like I should be diligently networking, and writing notes about connections between people I’d said I would follow up. And that’s not what I should have been doing.

I should have been giggling with my friends about how easy it is to photograph Heathers calves so they look like a bum, throwing shapes on the dance floor and covering myself in red lipstick. You know - this kind of stuff....

Of course – there was a way to get past the whole professional boundaries thing. Not a mature, healthy or advisable way, and a way I regretted on the bumpy train ride home – but none the less. It turns out a short cut to feeling like you are 19 again, is to drink like you are 19 again. A fab night was had by all – though the (predictable) side affect of this was that I woke up the next morning feeling (and looking) 80.

Day 79 - Hangover has aged me by a decade!

So lesson learnt? Even with very few wardrobe choices if you live a life where your professional and personal lives are miles apart, it might be worth identifying which clothes work best for which areas. Personally that dress – it’s just for sensible times for the rest of the year – mainly because I don’t want to find myself channelling ‘naughty Ed’ at a work event.

Can I just take a moment to thank you all both for your donations (not even 3 months into the year and already we’ve raised nearly half the target – THANKYOU), and for reading and sharing the blog. I’m not really sure how it happened but there have been more than 8500 views on this blog so far. Wow! 

Lots of you lovely people have been in touch with me and I’m really loving hearing from you – please keep the comments and emails coming. One thing a number of you have asked is how it’s easiest to follow the blog. Well I’ve just joined Bloglovin’, it’s a fab site that lets you follow all the blogs you like in one place. There is a follow button on my sidebar – if you join you’ll get an alert everytime I post new content – plus it’s a doorway to all sorts of other cool blogs, like this one.

 

So THANKYOU, and since it looks like the rain has stopped just in time for the weekend I really hope you all have lovely sunny Saturdays,

Ed x