The Case of the Red Blouse
I had a red blouse. It was asymmetrical, ruffled, understated, in a shade verging on burgundy, and cropped. The perfect piece for a college girl. I could wear it to dinners and parties, but if I felt like it, I could also wear it on ordinary weekdays when I didn’t have anything special planned. I could always count on it.
Maybe that’s why I loved them so much—I’d had my eye on them for a long time. I spotted them at an outlet store. I’d been looking at them for a couple of weeks, but since I didn’t really need them, I didn’t buy them—unlike a pair of pants from the same store. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—the pants didn’t last long; I wore them a few times and had to take them back because they started to fall apart. Well, I used the money from that refund to buy the red blouse. And I haven’t regretted it since!
Then I became a mother. The red blouse was still hanging in my closet, but I wore it less often. One cooler but sunny summer morning, I decided it would be the perfect choice for a walk with my friends. It protects me from the sun, but it’s breathable—and pretty, too. Sometimes I like to dress up in nicer clothes even for a simple walk. Simply because it makes me feel good. But this was the first time I didn’t feel good in the red blouse. I took it off and hung it back in the closet. I put on something else, and we set off.
Then the weeks and months went by. I had countless opportunities to put on the red blouse, but for some reason I never chose to. Finally, on one occasion, I took it out of the closet and folded it up. I put it away with the clothes I no longer wanted to wear. That’s when I realized that our story together had come to an end. It was beautiful; it lasted a long time. I have countless memories tied to this blouse, in countless outfits and life situations. I loved how it simply made me feel more elegant when I wore it with plain jeans and canvas shoes, and also when I paired it with an elegant skirt and a trench coat, or a denim skirt and Birkenstock sandals. It had a thousand faces, and I loved them all. But I knew that even if I kept it for years, I’d probably never wear it again. But I would have felt bad throwing it away. I loved it very much. And its story, too. I didn’t want it to disappear without a trace. I thought long and hard about how I could preserve its memory without just stashing the blouse in the closet.
Finally, I decided to write the tale of the red blouse. And that’s what set me on this path. That’s how maradó. began.
The red blouse and my own story inspired me to share the stories behind these clothes and help them find new owners who will continue to wear them with love. Because I believe that every piece of clothing has a story. And that story doesn’t have to be tied to just one person. Our wardrobes and our styles change naturally, just as we ourselves change and evolve throughout our lives. But some things are eternal. Our stories. And our clothes are a part of them.
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