I grew up in Catholic schools. Blue plaid jumper, white blouse, navy knee socks. High school brought a green plaid skirt and an itchy vest. What to wear wasn’t a question. Someone had already answered it.

I carried that logic into adulthood without realizing it. Find what works. Repeat. There was work Trish, school-pickup Trish, the occasional date-night Trish. And years of sidelines-and-bleachers Trish, dressed for every sport and weather condition.

I can almost chart my life by those outfits. Practical, efficient, and rarely about what I actually wanted to wear.

I understand the appeal of a capsule wardrobe. Ten items, infinite outfits, one less decision. But lately, I want to make the decision.

Some days I feel put-together. Some days, soft and a little undone. I want room for both. And I’ve been having more fun getting dressed since I stopped looking at Instagram for instructions.

I still look. I’m not immune. But I’d buy something because an influencer made it look like the answer, then wonder why I felt off wearing it. Her life, her style. It didn’t necessarily fit mine.

So I started looking for vintage pieces. Things with a little history.

My current favorite is a cardigan from Stickball. Old varsity style, an A, the number 72 (graduation year?) and a name in worn letters on the sleeve: Dorinda.

The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m declaring my freedom from uniforms, and my favorite piece was most likely part of someone’s school uniform.

Apparently, I just needed to choose it myself.

I have no idea who Dorinda is, whether she loved this sweater or shoved it in a bag after school. But I think about her when I wear it. I like the worn letters, the unanswered questions, the fact that it had a life before mine.

Over something simple, it feels exactly right.

I’m 55 and still figuring out how I want to look. That used to feel like a problem. Lately, it’s the most fun I’ve had getting dressed in years.

Dorinda, wherever you are, thank you for the cardigan.