This outfit started as a simple shopping list. Pastel plaid sundress with ruched top and tie straps. A cropped white sweatshirt layered over it—the one I’ve worn for years now. Vintage pink Prada nylon bag, Nike Air Force Pink, Phillip Lim tortoise shell sunglasses.
But the story behind these pieces is nothing simple.
I was scrolling through photos on my phone over the weekend when a “This Day Last Year” carousel popped up. It pulled in pictures from summer 2023—the year everything looked the same on the outside while I was falling apart inside.
I was knee-deep in PTSD from a winter blizzard just months earlier. Every walk brought flashbacks: weeks trapped indoors, shoveling paths that led nowhere, terrified my roof would cave under three feet of frozen snow or a tree would slice through the house. My summer walks were filtered with those dark winter nights—alone, waiting for help.
{{image:cover.webp}}I had to get out. I kept seeing memes about not being able to heal in the place that broke you. At the time, it was just a line. Now I know it’s true.
Right as I made plans to return home, my body sensed a betrayal before my mind caught up. My mom offered me her Lake Arrowhead house while she and my stepdad moved down the mountain permanently. I thought this would be long-term. It wasn’t.
{{image:image-01.webp}}The winter of 2024 felt manageable by comparison. But every time I shoveled snow, I realized my breakdowns weren’t about the present moment—they were echoes from the year before.
Living alone in a blizzard is different from living through one with someone who should have been your anchor. By February, I walked away from my business. A month later, I left Lake Arrowhead entirely and found a house just ten minutes from my mom’s down the mountain. Twelve years behind me. Afraid, but certain it was right.
{{image:image-02.jpg}}Looking back at those summer photos, I see someone trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship and a business partnership that drained her completely. Years of chaos on repeat—daily stress, disrespect, fake emergencies. Groundhog Day for nearly eight years.
I don’t miss it. Not the place, not the mindset. My friends? Yes, always them. But the rest feels like something I had to live through rather than a chapter I’d choose to revisit.
{{image:image-03.webp}}What I’m Wearing
- Pastel plaid sundress—ruched top, tie straps, can be worn strapless too. Sold out now, but this pastel gingham scrunched dress is a cute alternative.
- Cropped white sweatshirt layered over it. A favorite for years—I’ve styled it dozens of ways in other colors.
- Vintage pink Prada nylon bag. I bought it in 2003 and wore it hard through summers 2023 and 2024. The Prada Re-edition is pretty but tiny—barely holds lip gloss—and the vintage version is bigger if you can find one.
- Nike Air Force Pink.
- Phillip Lim tortoise shell sunglasses, retired this summer after having them since 2016.
Style Math
That Prada bag from 2003—two decades of use. That is cost-per-wear you can’t replicate with a new purchase at any price point. Some pieces earn their keep simply by surviving as long as they do.
Frequently Asked Questions
Can you really wear a vintage nylon bag in 2025?
Absolutely. Nylon bags are the original everyday carry—they don’t scuff like leather and they wash (if you’re brave enough). A well-kept vintage Prada Re-edition or original holds up against any new-season tote.
Is layering a sweatshirt over a sundress only for spring?
No. I’ve done it from late summer through fall. It extends the life of both pieces and adds that effortless layering look without looking like you’re trying to stay warm on purpose.
How do you decide when a piece has earned retirement?
When I stop reaching for it first. These Phillip Lim sunglasses were solid daily wear from 2016 until this summer. They just stopped being the go-to, and sometimes that quiet shift is all the signal you need.
A note from Lena: Some seasons teach us what to buy. Others teach us what to let go of—both in our closets and in our lives.