The 30-Wears Collection // Exhibit 003 : My Mom's Black Sweater

Meditations on the intergenerational memory box in the form of a simple black sweater.

Welcome to to the 30-Wears Collection: a “slow catalogue” dedicated to showcasing my most-worn pieces. By writing a tribute to each item, I hope to 1) create a personal record of my closet and style as it evolves, and 2) cultivate a practice of looking inwards as much as I do outwards as an admirer of beautiful garments.

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This humble black mock-neck sweater is by far the oldest item of clothing in my life — it’s been a resident in my closet since the late 2000’s and, before that, was worn by my mom for at least a decade. Surprisingly, it’s the only piece I currently possess that was inherited from her; I can’t remember if she bestowed this wardrobe castoff onto me, or if I plucked it from her closet as an adolescent desperate to trade her childhood clothes for ones more mature.

• Origin: mom’s closet, ~2008

• Cost: —

• Material: no tag, but likely synthetic

• Number of wears (from 2018-publishing): 58

A timeless, pragmatic garment with sartorial connections to both Carolyn Bessette Kennedy and Steve Jobs, the plain black sweater is a no-frills wardrobe staple that gets it done. Though it lacks in glamour, I’ve come to appreciate the subtle details that lend an extra je-ne-sais-quoi to this particular one: the slouchy fit, the mock-neck, the ribbed cuffs that rest perfectly atop my wristbone.

The existence of this sweater is a testament to its quality and durability; after decades of heavy use (by two wearers), it’s still in immaculate condition. However, having learned a thing or two about textile composition since acquiring it as a teen, I must admit that this synthetic knit is not as cozy and insulating as my natural fibre ones. It also produces an itchy, prickly feeling if I sweat in it following strenuous activity — I experienced the full extent of this ants-on-your-skin phenomenon pulling this on after a hot yoga class in winter of 2018.

I wore it near-daily for many years. From 2009 to 2017, it was probably my most-worn sweater, the palate cleanser to an assortment of experimental and trend-driven bottoms. While I’ve only logged 58 wears in my spreadsheet, the true tally surges well into the hundreds. Since my schooling days, I’ve gone through phases of wearing it non-stop and demoting it to the bottom of the drawer. I didn’t wear it at all during my pregnancy and postpartum months, but recently I’ve been called towards it again.

Although I’ve been trying to wear less dark, gloomy shades and black clothes are a nightmare in my two-cat household, it feels right returning to this piece in my current stage of life. I can’t help but feel a connection to my mother when I put it on, as if wearing it provides a shortcut to absorbing a trove of parenting wisdom. It makes an effective mask for the anxiety and — at times, debilitating — stress I experience while raising my daughter, helping me channel my mom’s cool collectedness when she’s not physically here to comfort and intervene.

A selection of my mom's outfits from the 90’s, ft. toddler me. Through faded photographs, her style still shines.

Having my own child has undoubtedly brought my mom and I closer, and given me firsthand experience with previously abstract concepts she’d drone on about like self-sacrifice and long-term sleep deprivation. Poring over dusty photo albums together to compare my daughter’s passage through infancy to my own, I only recently realized how iconic my mom’s style was (is) and the parallels between how we dressed as first time moms. While her outfits feels more minimalist and classic than how I lean these days, we share a love for sturdy denim, practical shoes, and funky belts.

This black sweater is a perfect distillation of my mom’s style in her late 20s and 30s; she had a way of making simple, modest clothes look impossibly chic with how she wore them. Even after she embraced t-shirts and sweats as a mom of two in Canada (having left so many things behind in our move across continents), she would still turn it up for a birthday lunch at our favourite dim sum restaurant or a springtime photo session framed by cherry blossoms in the park. Perhaps she used these occasions as rare opportunities to dress for herself, to wear the pretty things she deemed too special for her days as a stay-at-home mom. Maybe, too, she was dressing for us, and for how she wanted to be immortalized in the reservoir of our familial memories.

Being such a basic, versatile item, I’ve been able to make this sweater my own — it doesn’t feel like I’m cosplaying my mom when I wear it, as it might if I’d inherited one of her signature print dresses.

Strangely, it’s almost entirely absent from my personal photo archive (clearly I did not grow up in the smartphone era and was not habituated to taking photos of myself). Even after I began documenting my outfits more intentionally, it seemed to rarely make it into the looks I thought worth recording. Thankfully, I can recall the broad-stroke evolution of how I wore this piece, in pace with my overall style shifts.

• In my teenage years, I usually paired it with faded blue jeans (bootleg, then skinny, then ultra-skinny “jeggings”) and knee-high pleather boots to form my cold weather uniform. It made me feel grownup and sexy — a significant departure from the quirky graphic hoodies I wore until the onset of puberty. This ensemble conjures memories of the time I spent in my high school photography room, rolling up the sleeves of my sweater as I plunged undeveloped prints into baths of chemicals.

• Then, as I entered university, my style began to go through a more volatile phase; I was thrifting a lot and experimenting with ways of presenting. I can picture myself wearing this black sweater with the cool army-style pants I then owned (from Zara unfortunately) and pointy black boots — an outfit I would have worn to lecture, then off to “the shop” to work on a welding assignment (can you guess my major?). Another time, after a long day of classes, I unwittingly got roped into going out to the club wearing this conservative mockneck and Old Navy herringbone joggers — another very sweaty experience.

A few outfits from my past that I’m *pretty sure* feature this sweater: from 2015, 2017, 2022 (x2).

• In 2016, I fell in love with swing dancing and was going out to events whenever I could, which had a profound impact on how I dressed. While this sweater is much too warm as actual dance attire, it paired well with the vintage wool skirts that flooded into my wardrobe. Later that year, I fell in love again, this time with my now-husband. On our first date, I wore the sweater with a tartan kilt, navy tights, and dorky Clark shoes (see outfit 2 above) as we swayed to live jazz.

• From that point on, I wore it much less. I made the shift to natural fibres and typically preferred my black cashmere sweater for looks that called for a dark base. Still, I would pull this sweater out a handful of times a year, usually wearing it with wool trousers and a shirt layered over top, or just a pair of leggings for casual, do-nothing days at home.

How I would wear this sweater today — reminiscent of my mom’s style, but with a touch more colour and utilitarian flair.

I’ve only worn it 3 times this autumn — on days off work when I wanted to wear something uncomplicated and unprecious, suited for the messy work that is looking after a toddler. Lately, I’ve enjoyed wearing it with relaxed, wide-leg jeans and a contrasting shirt or belt for embellishment. Despite this garment’s apparent downgraded status in my closet, it remains a solid sweater option that always makes me feel graceful and put-together — just like how my mom always appeared to me.

At one point I nearly convinced myself to get rid of this piece, believing it was too subpar to belong in my knitwear collection, alongside 100% wool and cashmere labels. Now, I could never see myself parting with it. If I could only have one perfect black sweater, I could objectively do with an upgrade, but sentimentally, it doesn’t get any better than this.