When Autumn Knocks – and the Wardrobe Answers
I am sitting here in my kitchen in mid-September, and I can feel how autumn is gently knocking on the door. Outside, a great tree stands—majestic, steadfast—and it is always the first to wishper the change of seasons.
Perhaps that is why my thoughts turn to my wardrobe in these very moments. For my wardrobe is my personal marker of change. And that is where I find myself now: in a season of transition, reflecting on what I want to carry forward in life, how I feel about my body, my sense of worth, and my acceptance of the form I now inhabit. My wardrobe is my mirror, my sanctuary, my love letter to myself. When I sit at my sewing machine, I am not merely making clothes. I am giving myself time, attention, and care. Every piece I create is like a love letter, where both sender and recipient are me. It is not just about covering the body, but about framing it with respect. About saying: you deserve to be seen, you deserve to feel beautiful—exactly as you are now.
But my wardrobe is also a testament to how I have changed. The past years have been full of personal shifts—new chapters, new realizations, a new age. My body carries a story that is different from the one I carried in my twenties and thirties. I have grown softer, rounder, more mindful of health and sustainability. And while I have never felt better in my own skin than I do today, I still wrestle with the inner voices of the 1990s ideals—the images I grew up with, where my body never seemed to fit. Where I stand today has been a journey through decades, both in style and in time.
That is why sewing my own clothes is more than a passion—it is a form of resistance. A quiet revolution against a system that has always told me I should look different, be different. When I choose to make clothes to my own measurements rather than a standardized template, I am writing my own story of beauty. When I choose colors that enhance my natural glow instead of hiding behind those I thought I was supposed to wear, I step into a new freedom. And with every finished garment, I choose love over criticism.
I can feel a shift coming—not only in the weather, but within me. A farewell to a wardrobe tied to another time, perhaps even another version of myself. A welcome to a wardrobe where clothing is more than fabric—it is a daily reminder that I am enough. That I am worthy of being dressed in love.
It can be painful. For when you love clothes, when you tend to your wardrobe as a living project, it feels almost like a heartbreak to let go of the old, of what once felt right. But right there, in the ache, lies hope. Hope of creating something new, something that belongs to the woman I am now.
Perhaps you recognize yourself in this. Perhaps you know what it feels like when social media parades perfect outfits and endless confidence, while the truth behind the screen is more vulnerable, more human. And perhaps you too can find comfort in the thought that sewing your own clothes—creating with your hands—can be a way of finding home in yourself.
Because in the end, it is not about becoming the best version of yourself, but the truest. Sewing, for me, is a way of wearing that truth. Each dress, each blouse, each pair of trousers is a reminder that I deserve love—not only from others, but most of all from myself.
And just like autumn, with its colors and its quiet acceptance of change, I will let my wardrobe become a celebration of the life I live now. Not the one I dreamed of fitting into twenty years ago. Not the one I was told I should aspire to by outdated ideals. But the life I have created—with love, with my hands, with thread and patience.
And maybe that is where freedom truly lies: in letting go of the belief that I am “too heavy, too wrong,” and instead seeing my body as the home I will live in for the rest of my life. In letting size be a detail, not a verdict. For my body is not a mistake—it is a testament to all that I have lived, laughed, cried, and created.
When I sew my own clothes, I am also stitching together a new story of myself. A story with room for imperfection, for softness, for strength, for life. A story where my body is no longer the enemy, but an ally.
So my wardrobe should not only be a closet full of clothes. It should be a quiet celebration of self-acceptance. A reminder that beauty does not live in a size, but in the moment we dare to wear ourselves with love.
L O V E
Nanna
“Each dress, each blouse, each pair of trousers is a reminder that I deserve love—not only from others, but most of all from myself.”
