Early Experiences with Clothing

By Kimberly Inskeep & Mary Carangelo

There’s something special about relationships that come full circle. You meet, connect, go your separate ways, and then—sometimes unexpectedly—you’re brought back together again. That’s been my experience with Mary Carangelo, a friend and former colleague from my days at cabi, a women’s fashion and relationship-driven company. From the beginning, I was drawn to Mary’s deep intentionality—how she approached everything, especially her belief in the transformative power of clothing.

Recently, I stumbled upon an article that stopped me in my tracks. One paragraph read:

“As children, our clothing choices are often dictated by our families, reflecting cultural traditions, values, and history. These early experiences with clothing are about more than just style; they shape our understanding of who we are and inform our identities as we grow.”

Naturally, I was curious to see who had written such a thoughtful reflection—and there she was: Mary Carangelo. Now a fashion therapist and inspiring author, Mary continues to explore how fashion and identity are deeply intertwined. In the blog post below, she beautifully captures the emotional connection between what we wear and how we feel—offering a gentle reminder that our clothing often tells the story of who we are.

As Mary writes, “Fashion becomes a canvas on which we paint our emotions, aspirations, and even our struggles.” I invite you to settle in and enjoy her heartfelt reflection—and perhaps even think about the outfits that shaped your own story.

You can follow Mary @mcstyingxo.

The first cry of a newborn baby is music to the ears of the parents; a joyous confirmation that the baby is alive, well, and ready to begin their life journey. They are soon enveloped in a soft, swaddling blanket; a calming, warm fabric, that helps them to adjust into their new reality. The swaddling blanket is a newborn’s first piece of clothing and marks the beginning of their lifelong relationship with clothes, connecting them emotionally and physically to their environment.

As children, our clothing choices are often dictated by our family of origin, reflecting cultural values, traditions, and identities. This identity (expressed through what we wear), is modeled by the adults around us and passed down from generation to generation, creating a rich tapestry of connection that weaves throughout our lives.

Think about your own journey with clothing and how it has been a part of who you are and how you express yourself. We all have our own unique fingerprint of expression and a story of how it evolved.

Most commonly, our relationship with clothing begins when we are very young. My story is no different from most and has been shaped by the influential women in my life. My grandmother, who shared my name, played an important role in my life and was central to many of my memories.

She had many talents but the one she was most known for was her skill as an amazing seamstress. Fortunately, there was no shortage of material for her creations as my mother worked at a textile mill. Reims of corduroy, velvet, and cotton were piled high in the back room of our small duplex home, waiting to be transformed into her creative designs. She spent hours pressing her foot on the old black cast iron peddle of her sewing machine, magically producing outfits, bed linens, and even wedding dresses.

When I was around eight years old, my grandmother designed a stunningly beautiful ensemble that was emblazoned in my memory forever. A blue velvet cape with matching blue velvet shorts; not just any blue...the color of the sky. The reason I remember this outfit so vividly was not the way I looked but the way that I felt when I wore it.

Easter Sunday was a day to wear your finest outfits, and my mother dressed me in my new velvet cape with matching shorts. I felt so proud to be wearing my new outfit and filed into the pew with the other parishioners waiting for the service to begin. 

If you have ever attended a religious service, particularly a Catholic service, you know there is a lot of physical activity: kneeling, standing, and sitting. As I followed the rhythm of the mass, I noticed a rigidity to my movements and I needed more effort to move my legs. I also began to feel super uncomfortable!

I was confused at first, but when I left for communion, the problem became plainly evident. The heaviness and feeling of friction; the sticking, rubbing, and resistance was the velvet rubbing against itself as I walked or moved. As I inched my way to communion, I could feel the material of the shorts bunching between my legs. With every step I took, it was like having Velcro attached to the interior of my legs. “CHH, CHH” echoed in my head. I thought for sure that every person could hear the material tearing apart and then reattaching with each step. My grandmother had mistakenly made my beautiful Easter outfit out of upholstery material instead of the buttery, soft, draped velvet that is typically used for clothing. I managed to make it back from communion without embarrassing myself. All I wanted to do was reach between my legs and pull that material down to where it belonged. I went home, removed that outfit, and packed it away never to be worn again. I’m sure you wouldn’t be surprised to discover that I don’t own any velvet designs in my current wardrobe.

You see, it’s not only how you look in an outfit but how it makes you feel that’s important. Clothing can imprint memories, feelings, and represent something very personal. Although my story is an example of an “uncomfortable” memory, it’s important to note that this feeling is imprinted and will always be part of my identity.