On Sharing A Wardrobe With My Sister
“It must be so nice to have a sister — you both can share clothes!”
“You’re so lucky you’re the same size!”
“You have double the outfit options since you have a sister!”
My sister Priya and I hear this refrain all the time: unlike most sisters, we don’t remember a time we got into a fight over a piece of clothing, even as adolescents. Each of our closets has always been an extension of the other’s.
Growing up, our wardrobes were fluid — a piece of clothing going into hers after laundry was the same as it going into mine. We had a collective “dress corner” (this was in my closet since I was the “girly” one) and joint crates for our desi attire. Belts and other accessories were in her room, along with baggy sweatshirts, and we each kept a few tops hanging in our own separate wardrobes. We truly had double the options, but on the few occasions that we both liked exactly the same outfit an equal amount (and there was a chance we’d wear them at the same time), we’d buy two pieces and into the dress corner they’d go.
She’s always been the stylist — I eye clothes tentatively and she tells me if they’re “cheugy” or “this style is coming back” or “everything you like is blouse-y; remember you are not a nun.” Looking at beautiful clothes together, making fun of ugly clothes together, and her harsh but loving critiques of her “dumpy” sister, have always been one of the ways we bonded: she teaching me her exacting eye for the aesthetic and just on-trend enough, I accepting the advice gratefully in turn.
It should also be noted that we are also not the same size. Priya is 5’8”, lanky like a gazelle and gawky like a giraffe. I’m two inches shorter, with hips too thick for most jeans and a torso just too long for my legs. When you’re as fashionable as Priya is, the ‘fits that fit our frames vary quite a bit. If you’re reductive, we are “twins” in that we are both tall Jatt women with round, small faces, big eyes, and even bigger glasses. With our specs on, we look pretty similar, but if we’re being honest, she’s a few sizes smaller than me in all items of clothing. But Priya has always been committed to telling me I “can pull it off” and I don’t look “as ancient as I am,” and primping me in her indelicate yet dedicated way.
“Getting ready time” is a whole different ball game altogether — her latest deep-beats lounge music playing in the bathroom while we do our makeup and maybe down a G&T or two, carefully slicking on mascara as we shush the other, ridiculously staining tops with eyeshadow fallout, exchanging info on the best clear lip gloss, and straightening the back of each other’s hair.
My sister and I do not share a closet anymore. We no longer share a continent.
But on this past trip to see me, I realized that sharing clothes is a way she has always shown care. Before flying, she helped me price-compare my favorite yoga pants (they’re cheaper in London), ordered them to her place, and brought them across the ocean for me. She texted asking, “do you want your blue maxi skirt back?” “How about the tank?” She had even kept an eye on the fluctuations in my size when I sent photos of myself over WhatsApp: I’d bought a cream crocheted top I loved, sari blouse-slash-crop top, for a steal at an export surplus store on the side of the street in Mumbai a few years ago, but then hadn’t been able to fit into it a few months later. My sister was the obvious recipient of the hand-me-down, but last week she whipped it out of the bag she packed in London, saying: “I brought this thinking it didn’t fit you before but might fit you now!” Sharing a closet is impractical when we live in different countries, but the combined sister-closet has gone international. Even if we don’t share a physical closet, somewhere she has a mental drawer for me.
On a night out this week, Priya outfitted me in a cream silk cowl neck top with a corset bodice that I recognized as what she had worn on Valentine’s Day this year. On seeing me in it, she exclaimed, “oooOOOOooh you HAVE to keep that!” It’s hanging in my closet now.
Now, since she’s the stylist, I still consider my sister saying I have chosen a fashionable item of clothing the biggest compliment. On this trip, she audibly gasped when I pulled out a plunge-neck black cocktail dress with square bows on the back. “I’ll take that!” she exclaimed, and laughed as I hung it back in my closet.
At one point on the trip, I even considered giving it to her until I walked into the kitchen to the sight of her cleaning up a clumsy juice spill with a plush kitchen hand towel I’d gotten through my wedding registry…without a word, I put the dress back away and rolled my eyes at how careless my little sister continues to be. (Later on the trip, I told her that I’d actually considered giving her the dress but this was my rationale for keeping it, and she laughed aloud and called me petty, in a lovingly teasing tone.)
Last night, she packed and weighed her bags and organized her suitcase as neatly as origami. She slept early to prepare for her flight at dawn and I snuck into the room and tucked the dress under a pile of folded clothes. Siblings living on separate continents is unfair, but our revolving closet door gives us a clothes exchange to look forward to.
Until next time, sister.
