SEASON 3 S/S '26 - Too Hot For Layers
00:00:15 Intro: Hi, I'm Melanie and this is UNfashioned. A podcast about unraveling what no longer fits and rewearing what was always real. Last season, we spent time in the closet. We sorted through layers, examined the fabrics we are made of, and learned a little more about the pieces that have shaped us. And when we left off, we were standing there between seasons, surrounded by everything we have learned and everything we're still trying to carry. This season we will be focusing on layers. Summer apparel, and much more. So let's begin there.
00:00:57 The Walk: This morning I woke up snuggled under my warm, cozy quilt. Through the bedroom window, the day looked gray and overcast with the sky covered in storm clouds. It looked like one of those mornings where you just might want to pull the covers up over yourself and stay in bed. But my dog let me know that she needed breakfast and her morning walk. So reluctantly, I put my feet on the cold floor and reached for the clothes that had become my uniform over the past several months. A worn pair of jeans, an old oversized sweatshirt, and a pair of tired tennis shoes that had carried me through countless walks, workouts, errands, and ordinary days. I clipped the leash onto my dog's collar and headed out the door. The moment we stepped outside, I knew something wasn't quite the same. Sky still looked grey, but the air felt completely different. It was warm and humid and heavy. The kind of warmth that makes you aware of every extra layer you're wearing. After a few minutes of walking, I could feel the sweatshirt trapping the heat against my body. My jeans suddenly felt a little heavier and a bit uncomfortable, and even my shoes felt warmer than usual. I found myself wishing I had dressed differently. Every layer on my body felt like too many. I stood there for a moment, confused by the contradiction of what it looked like outside and what it really felt like outside. I had looked out the window and assumed the season was the same one I was living in for months. So, I dressed in what was familiar, comfortable, and what had always worked before. But somehow, while I wasn't paying attention, the seasons had changed. And sometimes the hardest thing about a new season isn't recognizing that the weather has changed. It's recognizing that we have changed, too. As the warmth begins to surround me, I started to wonder how often we do the same thing in our lives. Today's story is about those layers. Let's head back inside the closet.
00:03:27 The Tennis Shoes: As soon as I got home, I slipped off my shoes at the door. They were just an old pair of tennis shoes, the kind that had molded themselves to my feet over the years of use. The white had long since faded and the soles were worn smooth in places. They weren't at all fashionable. They were just plain old. I'm not even sure why I hadn't let them go yet, but they were the shoes I always reach for. As I carried them to the closet, I started to think about the many places they had carried me. Shoes are funny that way. We rarely think about them while they are quietly witnessing our lives. They go wherever we go. These shoes had walked miles beside my dog, my daughter and me. They carried me through workouts, jogs, errands, appointments, and through long walks when I needed to clear my head. They had wandered around antique shops and vintage markets. They stood beside soccer fields and sat beneath desks. They had been there for countless ordinary moments that eventually added up to a life. But they had also carried me through some difficult terrain. As I looked at them, I found myself thinking about all the years I spent simply trying to get through things. Through a struggling marriage and a divorce, through uncertainty and disappointment. Getting through one challenge and then moving on the ones after that. For a long time, life felt like putting one foot in front of the other and hoping eventually I would arrive somewhere better. Maybe that's why I love these shoes. They reminded me that no matter what was happening, I still had to keep moving. And that's when it occurred to me that maybe I didn't need to spend every season of my life moving forward at full speed. Every season may not be about surviving or getting through something. Maybe some seasons are just meant to be lived. My shoes had always carried me exactly where I needed to go. But for the first time in a long time, I wasn't focused on the next destination. I was simply standing still.
00:06:05 The Jeans: I stood barefoot, letting the terrazzo floors cool my feet. It seemed to slow things down a little for me. The rush of the morning had passed, and for the first time all day, I found myself paying attention to where I was instead of where I was going. I caught my reflection in the closet mirror. My sweatshirt was still hanging loosely around my shoulders. My jeans were still clinging to me in that familiar way that only a favorite pair of jeans can. I looked down at my jeans and I thought about just how personal they are. Of all the things we wear, jeans might be the garments that become the most connected to our everyday lives. They mold themselves to our bodies. They carry the scars of ordinary days. Jeans are what many of us live in. They become part of our routine, part of our identity, and eventually part of how we see ourselves. Standing there in the closet, I realized how much those jeans reminded me of the roles I had worn throughout my life. Over the years, I had been a daughter, a wife, a mother, a designer, a business owner, a teacher, a vintage seller, a podcaster, and now writer. Some of those identities arrived naturally. Others had taken time to grow. My jeans had seen most of them. Like my favorite pair of jeans, I spent years breaking in those identities, too. I shaped them and in many ways they shaped me too. They carried me through difficult chapters of my life and helped me become the person I am today. And for that I am grateful. But as I stood there looking at my reflection, I began to realize that none of those identities by themselves tell my whole story. They are all true, but they are not all of me. Somewhere along the way, I had become so accustomed to introducing myself through what I do, what I create, or who I care for, that I had forgotten there was a person underneath all those descriptions. I thought about the young designer who moved to New York with big dreams. I thought about the shop owner building a life in Belgium and raising a daughter. The woman rebuilding herself after divorce, and the podcaster sitting behind a microphone talking about closet clothing and identity. Every version of me was real. Every version mattered and deserved compassion and appreciation. But none of them are the entire story. I slowly unbuttoned the jeans. The familiar pressure around my waist relaxed immediately. Standing there, I began to feel lighter. Not because the layers were wrong, not because those versions of me no longer matter, but because I was reminding myself that I am more than any single role I have ever played. My jeans have shaped me, taught me, challenged me, and carried me through difficult seasons of my life. But they were never meant to define me forever. Just like the jeans the identities had fit for a while. They served a purpose and became part of my story. But just like the identities, my jeans were never the whole story either. It was time to let them go.
00:10:01 The Sweatshirt: I pulled off my oversized sweatshirt. It was one of my favorites. An old CrossFit sweatshirt that I've had for nearly ten years. The fabric has softened over time, the sleeves are stretched just enough to be comfortable, and if I'm being honest, I probably wear it far more often than I should. The funny thing is, when I first bought that sweatshirt, it really wasn't about the sweatshirt at all. It was about what was happening in my life at that time. I had just started CrossFit, and for the first time in a long time, I was learning something new about myself. Every workout challenged me in ways I wasn't expecting. I discovered muscles I didn't even know I had. I discovered strengths I didn't even know I possessed. Week after week, I found myself doing things that once felt impossible. I lifted heavier weights. I learned new skills. Each week I became stronger than I had been the week before. But somewhere along the way, something else was happening, too. The stronger I became physically, the stronger I became mentally. The more confidence I gained in the gym, the more confidence I gained outside of it. Every accomplishment, every challenge, every moment of realizing I was capable of more than I thought slowly changed the way I saw myself. For years, I had been questioning my own instincts and second guessing my own strength. But CrossFit had a way of stripping away excuses. It asked me to show up, to trust myself and to do hard things. Eventually that lesson followed me home. The more I learned about what my body could do, the more I began to believe in what I could do in other parts of my life. The stronger I became, the harder it was to ignore the truth about my marriage. I began to realize that the life I was living no longer fit the person I was becoming. The confidence that started in the gym slowly spilled into every other area of my life, until one day I found myself facing a difficult reality: I am stronger than I thought, and because of that, I no longer need to stay where I was. Looking back, I realized my sweatshirt witnessed all of it. It was there for the early morning classes. The victories and frustrations. The friendships I built along the way. It was there while I was learning to trust myself again. For a long time, wearing It felt like wearing a reminder of that strength. But standing there in the summer heat, sweating beneath a layer I no longer needed, I realized something more important. The strength was never in the sweatshirt. The courage wasn't stitched into the fabric. The confidence wasn't hanging in my closet. It was already part of me. The sweatshirt had helped remind me of what I was capable of during the seasons when I needed that reminder. But maybe this season was asking for something different. Maybe the season was asking me to trust that the lesson had already taken root. Maybe I didn't need to keep wearing the reminder because I had finally become the woman it had been reminding me to be. It was time to let it go too.
00:13:58 Feeling The Summer Season: For a moment I simply stood there. The shoes were by the door. The jeans were pooled on the floor. The sweatshirt was folded neatly on a chair beside me. The layers that had felt so necessary just an hour earlier were now scattered around the room. And suddenly there was space. The cool air from the house moved across my arms and shoulders. A breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and summer rain. My skin, hidden beneath the layers for months, could finally feel the season that had been waiting outside. I found myself thinking about how long it had been since I had simply notice something as ordinary as air moving across my skin. We spend so much of our lives being protected from the elements. We zip ourselves into coats, wrap ourselves in scarves, and layer ourselves against the cold and discomfort. And often we do the same thing emotionally, surrounding ourselves with habits, responsibilities, and identities that once served a purpose but eventually became so familiar that we forgot they're there. Standing there, I wasn't thinking about the confidence or vulnerability. I wasn't thinking about what came next. I simply was aware of the difference between carrying the layers and letting them go. The air felt cooler now. My body felt lighter. Even my breathing seemed deeper somehow. It was as if I had been holding on to something for so long that I had forgotten what it felt like to set it down. The layers had served a purpose. The shoes carried me. The jeans shaped me. And the sweatshirt reminded me of my own strength. I was grateful for every one of them. Yet I knew my decision to let them go was the right decision. For the first time that morning, I wasn't experiencing the season of being protected through those layers. I was experiencing it directly. And maybe that's one of the quiet gifts of summer. It invites us to stop caring what we no longer need and finally feel the warmth of the season we're already standing in.
00:16:50 Listener Reflection: I would like you to think for a moment about the layers you've been carrying, not the clothes hanging in your closet, but the things you've picked up along the way, the identities you've worn, the expectations you've carried. Consider the reminders you've held onto because once they helped you through a difficult season. Is there a layer that felt too hot or a layer you've outgrown? Is there something you've been carrying simply because it has become familiar? Consider what you might finally be able to feel if your layers came off even just for a moment. The warmth of a new season, room to breathe, or maybe more space to simply be yourself. It's just some things to think about as we move into this new season of our lives.
00:17:45 Conclusion: As I look around the room, the layers that have felt so necessary that morning were now resting quietly beside me. The shoes that had carried me, the jeans that helped shape so many versions of who I've been, and the sweatshirt that reminded me of my own strength. I was grateful for every one of them. They had all served a purpose. They had all belonged to the season of my life that helped me become who I am today. But seasons change. And maybe one of the most important things we can learn is how to recognize when it's time to stop caring what we no longer need. Not because they weren't valuable or they didn't matter, but because we've already taken their lessons and implemented the lesson in our lives. Thank you for spending this time with me. If you'd like to continue the conversation, you can find me on Instagram @UNfashionedpod. You can also subscribe to my Substack where I share additional stories, reflections, and behind the scene thoughts from Unfashioned. And if this episode resonated with you, I'd be so grateful if you left a review or shared it with someone who might need it. Join me in two weeks as we open one of the most vulnerable spaces in our closet. Until then, take care of yourself. Keep unraveling what no longer fits and keep rewearing what was always real.