The one item of clothing we can't throw away

http://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2015/may/22/the-one-item-of-clothing-we-cant-throw-away

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Kondomania is sweeping the nation. Or at least it should be. Marie “KonMari” Kondo’s book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing adopts an emotional approach to de-cluttering your possessions. The key is downsizing your stuff, eschewing storage containers (which encourage hoarding) and approaching your throw-out by thinking about what you want to keep rather than what you want to throw out. “Discard anything that doesn’t spark joy” is a good starting point. With that in mind, and thinking about the summer, the Guardian fashion desk reveal the one item they will never throw out.

I don’t remember actually buying this cotton shirt from Gap, and in terms of fashion it’s kind of non. But over the past few years it has fought it’s way from anonymity to being the champion of my summer look – when I’m going on holiday, it’s the very first thing I pack. My wardrobe is a meritocracy like that. The shirt’s primary skill is that it suits my skin tone – I think it makes me look at my most bronzed and summery – a bit Serge in St Tropez in the 70s. It’s the thing I put on after a day at the beach and a shower as I drink a beer and watch someone else start the barbecue. And it almost always smells of aftersun. Imogen Fox

I have a pair of Levis cut-offs that, I think, might be the most perfect item I own. They are also possibly the most bashed-up, about-to-fall-apart item I own. Despite a worrying development with a rip on the lefthand side pocket, I would never part from them. They cost £1.99 from Oxfam but I would save them in a fire over Christopher Kane knitwear and Chanel pumps. I wear them in the winter with tights, but they come into their own in summer, with brown flat sandals. Their strength is their fit – a bit slouchy but not boyfriend fit, not too short – and the way they dress down anything you put on top. My shorts and I have been to nightclubs, beaches, to dinners at restaurants and up mountains together. Our adventures, I think, are only just beginning. Lauren Cochrane

God only knows why I always have to sit on my suitcase to close it, because once I am on holiday what I actually do is wear the same black cotton dress every day. I use “dress” loosely here: it’s really just an elongated cotton vest, to mid-thigh, with ruched side seams and a drapey neckline that makes it look slightly more elevated than that. Every morning on holiday I get up, put my bikini on, then put this over the top. I wash it in the sink at night, hang it to dry and it looks the same the next morning. What I love about this dress is that you can’t do anything in it except holiday things. You can chop tomatoes for lunch at the kitchen table in it, but you couldn’t really go to a proper supermarket in it. You can pile into the car and head to the beach in it, but you definitely can’t, say, visit any historic churches. (Sorry, mum.) The label fell out years ago, and I have no memory of where I bought it. On holiday, probably. Jess Cartner-Morley

When I was freelance and skint, I made a habit of not buying new clothes. Or if I did, they were from charity shops in Golders Green. Luckily most of my friends were skint too, so sometimes we got together and swapped stuff. These bright blue shorts came from a friend of a friend about five years ago. They were a size too big but I was going on holiday so I swapped them for a coat I never wore. I wore them for about three months straight with white trainers. They’ve been on rollercoasters, to Vietnam and Sri Lanka twice, and are stained with coconut oil. Obviously clothes that are too big are ideal on holiday when it’s too hot for tight stuff and you want to eat tonnes of calamari. Morwenna Ferrier

This Mucho Gusto T-shirt is the perfect item to wear on a summer day-off: too full of holes to ever wear to work, too full of nostalgia to throw out. It’s one of those wardrobe staples that’s survived every house move, every round of decluttering and every wardrobe cull. A present from my oldest friend, who posted it from Australia in 1990-something, it arrived jet-black and bright yellow, the goofiness of the font fitting right in with a Happy Mondays/rare groove/acid house phase at the time. “Mucho gusto” is Spanish for “pleased to meet you” or “I like it a lot” – one of those daft, love-for-summer phrases that seemed perfect during a summer of love. Now it’s that faded grey that you can only get when you’ve put something in the wash for more than 20 years – literally washed-out. It’s a T-shirt that’s survived BBQs and beaches, heartbreaks and hangovers, long-forgotten all-nighters and gigs; it’s a keeper. Richard Vine