I’m Doing a No Buy Year for Clothes — Not Because I Hate Fashion, But Because I Love Jesus More
Let me start with the part that might surprise people: I love fashion. I love style as self-expression. I love color, texture, silhouette, and the quiet confidence of an outfit that just works. I’m also an artist, a lifelong thrifter, and someone who genuinely enjoys reinventing clothes—cutting them up, reworking them, styling them in ways they weren’t “intended” to be worn. This isn’t a rejection of beauty. It’s a refusal to keep pretending that a habit God has been gently confronting me about for two years is neutral.
Because if I’m honest, the way I interact with clothes hasn’t just been creative. It’s been compulsive.
The cycle is embarrassingly familiar. I accumulate. I feel overwhelmed. I purge in a moment of moral clarity. I feel a weird mix of relief and shame. And then—like clockwork—I start collecting again. I tell myself it’s intentional, curated, or practical. But the truth is, it’s just a psychotic little loop that masquerades as self-expression.
And the worst part? It’s exhausting.
I’m tired of managing clothes like a side hustle. The buying, the tracking, the waiting for packages, the hit of dopamine when something arrives, the satisfaction of “getting a deal,” and then the slow burn of realizing I now have to steward this item with my actual life. Laundry. Storage. Outfit decisions. Closet organization. Mental inventory. It all adds up to decision fatigue I never signed up for, and stress that feels wildly disproportionate to a pair of pants.
At some point, God made it clear: this isn’t about clothes. It’s about attention.
Because collecting clothes—however aesthetic, thrifty, or justified it feels—has quietly become an idol of distraction in my life. Not in a dramatic, golden-calf kind of way, but in the far more dangerous “this feels harmless” kind of way. The kind that eats time, money, mental space, and creative energy while convincing you it’s fine because you’re not doing anything obviously wrong.
Here’s what I started to notice when I slowed down enough to pay attention:
I checked shipping updates more than I checked in with God.
I felt more excitement about a package arriving than about creating something with my hands.
I justified spending because it was a “deal,” not because it was wise.
I outsourced inspiration to brands instead of cultivating it through prayer, stillness, and making.
That’s not neutral. That’s formation. And it wasn’t forming me into someone more present, creative, or free.
So in 2026, I’m doing a No Buy Year for clothes. Not as punishment. Not as minimalist cosplay. And definitely not because I suddenly stopped loving fashion. I’m doing it because Jesus keeps inviting me out of distraction and into something deeper, and I’m finally done negotiating with that invitation.
I’m calling this crucifixion, not self-control. Self-control says, “Try harder.” Crucifixion says, “Let something die so something better can live.” This isn’t about proving I can resist temptation. It’s about laying down a habit that has taken up more space than it deserves and asking God to reorder my loves.
And no, this doesn’t mean I’m giving up style or creativity. If anything, I’m reclaiming it.
I want to replace consumption with creativity again. I want to style what I already own, alter pieces instead of replacing them, and actually play with clothes instead of constantly chasing the next thing. I want inspiration to come from within, not from an algorithm that exists solely to keep me scrolling and spending. I want boredom to lead to imagination instead of a browser tab.
Because here’s the truth no one really talks about: shopping can be a creative block. When buying becomes the outlet, making disappears. Why wrestle with an idea when you can just add to cart? Why sit with discomfort when a package promises reinvention? But clarity that’s purchased is temporary. Clarity that’s formed sticks.
This year isn’t about having less for the sake of less. It’s about better stewardship—of money, time, attention, and the creative energy God actually entrusted to me. It’s about refusing to let something as small as clothes quietly run my life, my mind, or my calendar.
So if you’re sensing a similar nudge—if you’re tired of the purge-shame-accumulation cycle, tired of managing things you don’t even love, tired of mistaking novelty for renewal—this isn’t an invitation to copy my rules. It’s an invitation to ask better questions. What has your attention? What are you collecting instead of creating? What might God be trying to free you from, not restrict you in?
For me, the answer is clear. 2026 isn’t about restriction. It’s about repentance, reordering, and reclamation. And yes, I’m fully aware this will be uncomfortable. But comfort hasn’t been producing the fruit I want.
So I’m laying it down. One year. No new clothes. More Jesus. More creativity. Less noise.
And honestly? I’m excited.
