There I stood, barefoot in a stranger’s garden, holding the fragile hand of a 94-year-old woman as we stared at an abandoned party shed. Three hours earlier, I’d knocked on her door with a small bouquet—keeping a promise I’d made to visit. She was always impeccably dressed during our brief street encounters, this soft-spoken lady who used to walk with her blind husband before he passed.
Her house overwhelmed me. Memorabilia everywhere. Plants cascading from every surface. Photos of 71 years of marriage—high school sweethearts who’d built a life together. Pictures of children and grandchildren who rarely visit anymore.
“Let’s sit in the garden,” she said, leading me outside with those delicate hands.
The sun blazed overhead as she served homemade cake and the most extraordinary drink—fruit tea swirled with elderflower syrup and red wine that made my head spin and my curiosity explode. It tasted like liquid sunshine. We talked for hours. About her husband. and about how proud she was that I’d thrived in Germany. We watched birds and laughed. We sighed.
Then she wanted to show me her garden. That’s when we discovered the shed.
The Shed That Tells Stories
I’d never seen it from my side of the fence—this weathered structure with a hanging lamp still dangling from the ceiling. Old chairs are scattered around. Tables pushed against the walls. Her eyes went dreamy.
“We used to throw so many parties here,” she whispered. “We would dress up, receive guests, and have such fun.”
Then her voice cracked.
“Now it’s just quiet. I no longer wear those dresses. Those times are gone.”
A pause that felt like eternity.
“But I’m glad I wore them then. I should have worn them more often.”
Standing there, holding her weathered hands, something moved inside me.
I remembered back then, around 8 years ago, when I smacked my forehead as I opened my closet. Of course, I was looking for something to wear, but something caught my attention. Then I realized I had so many… special pieces. How many “special occasion” clothes were hanging inside, waiting for the perfect moment? How many beautiful things had I saved until they lost their sparkle, their relevance, their joy?
That morning, I made a decision.
I put rouge on my cheeks, red lipstick on my lips, and slipped into my most gorgeous dress. Then I laced up my loveliest shoes, climbed on my bike, and rode to the grocery store.
I left my jeans and t-shirt at home.
The Indonesian Way: Where Every Outing is an Occasion
But standing in that garden, I realized this lesson had been with me all along, woven into the fabric of my Indonesian childhood like batik patterns passed down through generations.
Growing up in Indonesia, my mother had a ritual that seemed almost sacred to my young eyes. Every time we prepared to leave the house—whether for Christmas celebrations, family visits, or even just a trip to the traditional market—she would gather us children and announce with quiet authority: “Mandi terus ganti baju yang rapi.” Go shower and change. We must dress properly.
This wasn’t vanity. This was respect.
In Indonesian culture, how you present yourself to the world is a reflection not just of your own character, but of your family’s dignity, your upbringing, and your respect for the community you’re entering. The traditional market vendor deserved to see you at your best just as much as the church congregation or dinner guests.
I watched my mother transform herself for these occasions. She would carefully select her most elegant blouse and pair it with a beautifully tailored skirt or sophisticated trousers. She’d add a delicate piece of jewelry, apply her makeup with precision, and slip on her chicest shoes.
We Saved Clothes for Special Occasions
Even for something as simple as buying vegetables and spices at the pasar, she would never leave the house looking anything less than put-together. “People will remember how you looked,” she would say, adjusting my collar or smoothing my hair. “They will judge your family by how you present yourself.”
This wasn’t about impressing others or showing off wealth we didn’t have. It was about honoring the moment, honoring the people you would encounter, and honoring yourself. Every outing was treated as an occasion worthy of your best effort.
When relatives visited, the ritual intensified. The house would be cleaned until it sparkled, the best plates would come out of storage, and we children would be dressed in our finest clothes—ironed to perfection, shoes polished until they gleamed. These weren’t just social visits; they were opportunities to show love and respect through careful presentation.
Christmas meant new clothes, always. Not because the old ones were worn out, but because celebrating the birth of Christ deserved fresh beauty, new beginnings, and the acknowledgment that this day was unlike any other. (These pictures above were for Christmas. I HATED THAT DRESS! It was so itchy! But well, it was the prettiest!)
Life After I Moved to Germany
When I grew up and moved to Germany, I continued to dress up when I went outside. I had a boutique and a shoe shop in Indonesia. I was… in my head, born to be chic (laugh). But that moment eight years ago, staring at my closet full of neglected beauty, I heard my mother’s voice echoing across continents and decades: “Every day you wake up healthy is a special occasion. Why are you not dressing for it?”
And over the years, especially after I launched The Fancy Minimalist and decided to work on it full-time in 2022, I started to ponder a deeper question: why do I only wear my special pieces when I am out? When I am home, even without other people, does it mean that day isn’t a special occasion?
Does it mean I don’t deserve to look good? For me?
I mean, sure, I was only working on the second floor of my apartment, but the day was still special—and even more special because I got to dress up for myself. For the most important audience of all: myself.
The Most Important Audience of All
So I started my ritual of dressing up before going to ‘work’ upstairs. I began rotating through my silk camisoles, favorite jeans, and blazers, alternating with flowing maxi dresses and delicate silk kimonos. On colder days, I sought comfort in my fluffiest cashmere cardigans, tailored wool pants, and those divine merino wool socks that felt like whispers against my skin as I slipped them into my favorite loafers.
I even started sleeping in my cashmere pullovers at night—transforming the most private, unseen hours into moments worthy of luxury. The transformation was profound. My posture changed when I wore heels to my home office, and my confidence soared when I caught glimpses of myself in silk during video calls. The entire energy shifted when I honored my workday—even a solitary one—with the same care I’d once reserved for important meetings.
My life IS special—so is everything in my wardrobe.
The Psychology of “Saving for Later”
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we tuck away our most beautiful possessions like precious artifacts in a museum we never visit?
Psychologists call it “hedonic adaptation” – the tendency to save peak experiences for imaginary future moments that feel more “worthy.” We operate under the illusion that there will be a “perfect time” when everything aligns: the right event, the right mood, the right weather, the right company.
But here’s the cruel irony: by the time that mythical perfect moment arrives (if it ever does), the dress has gone out of style, the perfume has gone rancid, or worse – we’ve convinced ourselves we’re no longer the type of person who deserves such beautiful things. This scarcity mindset extends beyond clothing. We save the good china for holidays that never feel special enough. And perhaps, we keep expensive candles until they crack with age. We reserve our kindest words, our boldest dreams, our truest selves for “someday.”
Here’s the Truth
The truth? We’re rationing joy in a world that desperately needs more of it.
That 94-year-old woman, standing beside her silent party shed, embodied every person who ever whispered, “I’m saving this for a special occasion” while life quietly slipped away, one ordinary Tuesday at a time.
Your Tuesday is as worthy as your wedding day, and your grocery run deserves as much beauty as your birthday.
The ordinary moments ARE the special occasions.
So wear that damn dress. Put on those heels. Use a good perfume. Light the expensive candles.
Stop saving your joy for someday. Life is happening now. And it’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt while your most beautiful self waits patiently in the closet, gathering dust and losing time. Don’t let your future self stand in an abandoned shed, wishing you’d worn the dress more often.
How to Start Wearing Your “Special” Pieces
Ready to break free from the “saving for later” trap? Here’s how to begin:
START SMALL, START NOW
- Choose one “special” item this week and wear it for something ordinary – grocery shopping, a coffee run, working from home
- Use that expensive lipstick for a video call
- Light the fancy candle while you’re reading
- Wear the silk blouse to the grocery store
REFRAME YOUR MINDSET
- Ask yourself: “If not now, when?” every time you reach for the “save it” option
- Remember: You ARE the special occasion
- Consider that clothes and beauty products have expiration dates – use them while they’re at their best
CREATE YOUR OWN OCCASION
- Declare random Tuesdays as “Cashmere Day”
- Make weekly “Fancy Grocery Shopping” a tradition
- Host “Beautiful Morning Coffee” ceremonies in your best robe
- Turn mundane tasks into opportunities to celebrate yourself
Remember the 94-Year-Old Test. Before choosing your outfit, ask: “What would my 94-year-old self want me to wear today?” Then honor that answer. Your life is already special. Your wardrobe should reflect that truth.
What’s one beautiful thing you’ve been saving for “someday” that deserves to see the light today?
