Collector’s Crisis: Between the Old Céline and the Self

On archiving, evolving, and remembering what I actually love

I’ve recently archived my entire Instagram. I’ve been feeling stuck for a while, but only now have I realized that all these years of the same photos, the same poses, the same format - and me putting myself in a box - were really weighing me down. I felt like I wanted to do things differently, but I didn’t know how, and it was easier to keep doing the same things.

This also happened while I was thinking a lot about my personal style - how I dressed before I started collecting Old Céline, and how Phoebe Philo’s launch affected the way I wanted to look.

I’ve always been drawn to simple things. But when I started collecting, I slowly shifted from buying only what I would wear to also buying what I wanted to own. Collecting had its own rules. It became less about personal style and more about preserving something rare.

I remember someone once messaged me: “You don’t have enough Céline to be a collector.” But how much is enough? What makes a collection valid - quantity, rarity, visibility? That comment stuck with me. Because while I knew why each piece mattered to me, it made me question whether I had unconsciously started collecting to prove something. Was I collecting for myself or for some invisible audience that had its own idea of what being a collector looked like?

But the truth is: collectors’ pieces aren’t usually made for daily life. They’re often too sharp, too dressed up, too special. I need a reason to wear them. Yes, it’s liberating to say you can wear them to the grocery store, but I don’t actually want to. And so I buy, I buy, I share - and yet, most mornings, I still feel like I have nothing to wear. My closet started filling up with meaning, but not necessarily with ease.

So I’ve been thinking about where the line is between collecting and wearing. Should I sell something that feels more like an object than a garment - and instead buy something I’d actually put on? Even if it’s not a rare piece? Or should I hold onto it as part of an archive, because it still holds meaning in a different way? I don’t know.

What first drew me to Phoebe Philo’s Céline was the clean, minimal clarity of those early collections - sharp tailoring, muted palettes. That felt like me. But as her vision expanded, so did my taste. I grew into the richer textures, the unexpected proportions, the prints and sculptural jewelry. Even when the collections became more expressive - almost like wearable contemporary art - I never stopped feeling connected to them. Still, it was that minimal core, the sharpness of the beginning, that shaped my idea of style.

Old Céline prints from my collection

Then, when Phoebe Philo launched her own brand, it felt like both a reinvention and a return to the essence of her earlier work at Céline - more minimal, more uniform, more in line with what I had initially connected with. There was a renewed sense of the clean, sharp silhouettes I had always loved, with pieces that were both fresh and familiar. When I first saw it, I felt for a moment like I should sell many of my Old Céline pieces. These pieces I had hunted, restored, loved, no longer matched what she wanted to create now. In one second, everything started to feel outdated.

That’s what it means to be deeply aligned with one designer: when they move on, you’re left wondering whether to follow.

It was easier for me to convince myself I didn’t need it that much. Even though some pieces were reimagined from her Céline era, the overall aesthetic was different. And of course, it was expensive. I knew I wouldn’t be able to buy much.

But then I realized: before I started building my Old Céline collection, that’s actually how I wanted to look. Clean. Simple. Edgy. Shirts, suits, a lot of black. That aesthetic was always more me than the colors and prints - even though I appreciate those pieces so much, and I could still wear them, my core was not that. Seeing Phoebe Philo pieces reminded me of my old self.

And there’s my ongoing battle with trying to feel contemporary in my clothes. Some Old Céline pieces - even the most sought-after, the ones people instantly recognize - can be surprisingly hard to style in a way that feels like now.

Buying just one Phoebe Philo thing - like the flip-flops - completely changed the way I felt about getting dressed. But bringing in pieces like that also means changing the way I shop.

I’m used to an average price of €100 for my Old Céline pieces. That’s always been the thrill - finding something rare, beautiful, and underpriced. And in my head, I’d rather buy ten things for €100 each than one thing for €1000. But maybe that’s the shift I need. Maybe I can buy just one thing - something I’d actually wear (both Old Céline and Phoebe Philo) - instead of buying something just because it’s Old Céline and could be part of the collection.

What if my way of collecting became less about accumulation, and more about intention - even if it meant slowing down? Resale doesn’t wait. Things appear once, then disappear forever. Maybe that’s why I keep buying pieces I don’t fully need: because I’m afraid I won’t get another chance. There’s always that quiet panic - what if I miss my only chance?

But even though almost all of my wardrobe is Old Céline, I still want to feel contemporary. That is my challenge: how to honor the past without being trapped in it. I don’t want to be a museum of a certain era - I want to keep moving, evolving, editing. Not to chase trends, but to be in the present.

And I know I’m not the only one going through this. My wonderful friend Bea is in a similar place - she’s just had a baby, she’s approaching forty, and she told me she’s been thinking about her style in a new way. She said:

“I feel like I’ve changed. My body, my taste, even the way I want to express myself - it’s different now. I feel more confident in simple outfits. More complete in them. Phoebe’s new launch helped me realize this. The relaxed shapes, the comfort, the minimalism with a cool edge - it just felt right. So I went through my closet and sold everything that didn’t feel close to how I see myself now. I’m using the money to find pieces that feel more like me today. Some are Old Céline, some are Phoebe Philo. But they all fit this new phase.”

Reading that was so important for me. It reminded me that this isn’t only about the collection. It’s about identity. And identity changes.

And maybe part of my conflict comes from the fact that I’m loyal by nature. It’s not that I feel constrained from buying other brands - I don’t. I like that I have this kind of exclusivity with one mind, one aesthetic that I feel aligned with. It’s rare to find that kind of connection in fashion, where so much is fleeting. I don’t feel limited. I feel tethered to something that still feels like me.

But maybe loyalty doesn’t mean keeping everything. Maybe a return to self doesn’t have to mean going backward. Sometimes, it just means finally letting yourself take up space in your own way.

Some recent outfits with my new Old Céline pieces and PP flip flops

So that’s where I’m at: figuring out how to balance collecting with actually getting dressed. Letting go of pieces that just sit in the closet - not because I love them any less, but because I want a wardrobe that feels more wearable. I still care about the archive, but I don’t want it to weigh me down. I want clothes that represent me in this very moment.

Let’s see where this goes and thank you for letting me share this in-progress version of things,

Veronika