ISSUE 07: The Things I Bought Twice

An ode to loyalty, impulse, and the bliss of knowing what works

There’s a certain kind of shopper who treats every purchase like a vow: one perfect sweater, one ideal pan, one forever bag. I’m not that person. I re-buy things. Not because I’m disorganized or forgetful, or because I dislike the idea of ephemera… but because I know what I like—and when I find it, I tend to hold on for dear life.

Sometimes it’s practical. Take the Paige jeans I keep rebuying like they’re going out of style (which, in fairness, they might be). They come in a 34” inseam—basically a miracle for anyone over 5'9" who wants a full-length pant that doesn’t look like a capri or a deeply unfortunate MJ impersonation. I’ve bought and hoarded multiple backups, because you never know when a brand will “update” the cut and ruin everything.

And let’s be honest, some items are just so good they become their own little personality trait. The shoe I finally replaced after I’d gotten the originals re-heeled for the 5th time and my cobbler started looking at me sideways. The lipstick I keep on hand in triplicate. The dress that made me feel like myself in a year when nothing else did. It’s not a lack of imagination—it’s loyalty. A personal pantheon of objects that don’t just fit, they hit.

Buying something again is rarely about logic. It’s about recognition. A gut-level knowing. This thing—whatever it is—works. It fits. It gets you. It becomes part of your life so seamlessly that going without it feels wrong. And when it wears out, or disappears, or sells out, you feel a specific kind of heartbreak: the heartbreak of a perfect thing lost.

Designer Martine Rose once said in an interview that the things people hold onto the longest are never the things that were hyped—they’re the pieces that feel like "home." There’s this deeper layer of taste that reveals itself over time, not in the initial dazzle, but in what you keep reaching for.

I’ve often wondered why some things spark cult followings—why one sandal or candle or sculptural lamp develops a fervent underground fandom while others disappear like they never existed. There’s a mystery to it, but maybe it comes down to resonance. Aesthetic, yes, but also emotional. It’s why people will write blog posts mourning the discontinuation of a lipstick shade or bid triple the retail price for a now-impossible-to-find 2018 COS coat. The item becomes personal—part of your visual language. When it vanishes, it feels like losing vocabulary.

Artist Kahlil Joseph has described repetition as a kind of echo—an artistic rhythm that makes something stick in the subconscious. There’s a reason why we rewatch films, reread books, reframe the same painting three apartments in a row. Not because we’re unimaginative, but because repetition can be a ritual of memory. Repetition gives shape to identity.

Sometimes a thing becomes a stand-in for a time in your life: the perfume from a summer abroad. The exact mug you sipped from during an especially gray and bleak winter. The red sweater you wore the week everything started to fall into place. Buying it again isn’t about consumerism; it’s about continuity, about holding a thread (literally and/or figuratively).

I once heard someone say that the real sign of adulthood isn’t being able to cook or file your taxes—it's knowing your go-to order. Your default wine. Your perfect t-shirt. I think there’s some truth in that. There’s a groundedness to returning to the same beloved item again and again. It’s not lazy; it’s intimate. It’s a relationship. One built on time, wear, and memory.

Of course, this isn’t about owning only five things. I still believe in experimentation, in weird objects and impractical purchases and letting yourself evolve. But not everything has to be an evolution. Some things are just... right. And when you find them, it’s okay—beautiful, even—to say: I’ll take another.

This week’s goodies: Repeat offenders. Gems that are so good, I’d buy them all over again—and probably will.

Next Week: a love letter to the impractical, the excessive, the joyfully unnecessary.