My partner’s parents both live with Alzheimer's disease. His mother, in particular, has shown me just how closely comfort and emotional regulation can be tied to what we wear, and how easily that relationship can become unsettled when cognition changes. As her days have become more sedentary, her body has changed too. 

She no longer has the ability to select clothing in a way that supports her comfort. Left on her own, she will layer too many pieces, or return to the same matching tracksuit she loves, even though it’s now too tight for her (we’ve had to quietly ease it out of the rotation). Her wardrobe has required almost a complete renewal to accommodate this shift. Shapes need to allow for comfort. Waistbands need to be more forgiving.

Living with a chronic illness myself (one that affects my own fluctuating midsection) I recognise this need intimately. Elasticity has become a good friend. Not too wide, not too thin that it cuts in. Snug enough to feel held, but stretchy enough to both move and rest in. There are, in fact, many parallels between my mother-in-law’s needs and my own. She can’t articulate when she feels uncomfortable, but communicates it through restlessness. She becomes fidgety when a neckline doesn’t sit quite right, or if a top clings at the hips.

What we’ve learned, through a lot of trial and error, is that reducing choice is kinder than offering it. So, we try to buy her multiples of the garments that work. Pieces we know she enjoys wearing. Pieces with minimal fuss. Familiarity equates to ease, and ease means calm. It removes daily negotiation and the anxiety that can come with decision-making, for her and for us. We try to make dressing more fun through a bit of silliness, introducing her and her outfit when she re-enters the living room, like she's a model in a fashion parade. It turns a confusing and sometimes stressful task into a light-hearted one. A helpful thing about her forgetfulness is that we can repurpose the same jokes again and again. Her different reactions each time, make it entertaining for everyone. Laughter is medicine, as they say. It's very true. 

We’ve tried many systems to help her maintain some independence with dressing, and with the practicalities that sit around it. Hanging complete outfits together. Labelling garments with days of the week. Repositioning the laundry basket to gently encourage clothes make their way to the wash. Some approaches worked briefly, others not quite as we’d hoped.

Right before she moved into care, I bought her a small frog brooch. It has become a little companion of sorts. She has lost some dexterity now, but when we're not there, my father-in-law pins it to whatever she’s wearing, so even when we’ve had to introduce new clothes, that small, familiar friend helps anchor them as hers.

We’ve relaxed our expectations around how often clothes are changed and washed now too. These days, every three days is a win, and looser-fitting garments make that possible, as they’re more breathable. For a period of time, my father-in-law's heightened anxiety made him hesitant to send their clothes to the care home laundry, convinced they wouldn’t return. So we'd find them in the same clothes for days on end. Introducing a wardrobe of repetition, became a subtle reassurance for him as well. It seemed to ease his concern. It allowed clothes to come and go more freely and, over time, helped him let go of the need to oversee the process (a relief to the laundry staff, no doubt). 

In a reality that is ever-changing, what remains evident is this. When my mother-in-law is comfortable, she is calmer. She fidgets less. She asks fewer concerned questions. Her nervous system, it seems, can rest.

While witnessing the decline of loved ones’ cognition and character is deeply heartbreaking, I am humbled that my experience has helped guide conversations with Amy and Daphne, and quietly informed many of the considerations within Mita’s first collection. It is not about fashion in the conventional sense. It’s not about offering anything groundbreaking. It’s about removing friction. About designing garments that don’t demand explanation, correction or constant adjustment. About recognising that comfort is not a luxury, but a form of care.

For those of us dressing someone who can no longer dress themselves, the goal is not perfection. It’s ease, familiarity and the gentle relief that comes when something feels right. A drop of simplicity in complex circumstances.