jacket, walmart. t-shirt and skirt, vintage. feather cord, forever 21. chain bracelet, ann taylor loft. sheer socks, h&m. heels, born.
i have an awful, awful habit of losing jewelry that holds sentimental value: the watch that was the first gift my dad ever gave my mom (luckily, recovered); the gold snake bracelet i bartered down from $80 to $25 at an NYC flea market; the blue elephant charm i bought in san francisco's china town.
wearing them almost daily, these pieces became my trademarks. i was wracked with guilt when i lost the watch, knowing i had lost a piece of my parents' history together. when i found it buried under the seat of my car five months later, i was elated. i don't wear it anymore out of fear of losing it again. the bracelet and necklace are gone, though, and honestly, whenever i think about them, i feel a little pang of sadness - and guilty for my carelessness.
clothes can tell a story, too, of course, but most of what i own is cheap and replaceable. but this shirt, like the necklace and bracelet, has become a part of me. i've probably worn it once a week for the past six years. i bought it at an amazing, enormous vintage store near my hometown. in high school, i would spend hours scouring their racks for t-shirts, boots, chain necklaces and purses. i remember feeling devastated when i learned that they were downsizing from a warehouse-sized space to a tiny, overstuffed closet a couple of streets over. i'm kind of embarrassed to admit it, but i would cry if i lost this shirt.
i think most people would tell me that it's silly, or even superficial, to get so emotional over pieces of jewelry or clothing... but can't we value a watch or a t-shirt as much as or even more than a photograph?
colordrop stone necklace: kind of gaudy, but i like it. 
