Is it completely pretentious to think of putting together a “wardrobe manifesto”? Putting such a label on it probably pushes it into “way too far” territory, but with the horrifying realisation that gaining weight can happen, and more to the point, is doing so at a slightly unprecedented rate, some simple (ha!) rules may be in order. Heaven forbid freedom goes to my head and I end up with bags full of sleeveless, navy, footless garments.

1. No sleeveless, and definitely no high necks. Neither of these do me any favours whatsoever, and there is far too much fun to be had with a sleeve. Just look at batwings.
2. Be ruthless. That includes culling what I do own, results of which are pictured here. Nothing like a scourge of the wardrobe floor to put you in a cheerful mood on a Sunday evening.
3. As little “fast fashion” as possible. I’ve mentioned this before, but like its gastronomic equivalent, quick fixes make me happy in the short term – the very short term – but after a while, I do tend to wish I’d gone for a more durable alternative, even if it costs that bit more.
4. Take trends on a case-by-case basis. If something looks good, or even better, fabulous, on me as well as a magazine spread, the first thing I should probably do is ask myself why I don’t already own it. After that, I might as well take the opportunity to do some serious soul-searching and ask myself “is it going to work, six to nine months or even more from now? If so, see Rule Three for “approved outlets”.
5. Dress for my shape. I have a feeling that this will be the most difficult task, given my history, and it’s a little bit of all the above rules combined. That said, the day I hit goal, I am going on a truly momentous fitting spree. Yes, that’s right, not necessarily a shopping spree, but a fitting spree, in order to discover and/or confirm what should be gracing my frame rather than a coat hanger, and vice versa.

…Just wish me luck sticking to these venerable guidelines next time I walk past Topshop or totally accidentally click onto ASOS. The photos are of the broken shell that is now my wardrobe, post clear-out. Egads.