So I was scrolling through my phone the other day, completely lost in that weird afternoon slump where you’ve had too much coffee but not enough actual work done, when I stumbled upon this old photo from last summer. Me, looking ridiculously happy, wearing this oversized graphic tee I’d completely forgotten about. It got me thinking about how my style has been all over the place lately, but in a good way, you know? Less about following trends and more about what actually makes me feel good when I leave the house.
Anyway, that train of thought led me down a rabbit hole. I ended up digging through my closet, which is always a dangerous endeavor. It’s less of a closet and more of a carefully curated avalanche of fabric. I found that tee, a bit crumpled, but it sparked something. I remembered buying it on a whim because the design made me laugh. It’s not “fashion,” but it’s me. That’s the vibe I’m chasing now—pieces that have a story, or at least make me smirk.
This whole closet archaeology session made me realize I needed a better system. My brain for remembering what I own and where I saw that perfect pair of pants online is… not great. A friend, who’s way more organized than I’ll ever be, mentioned she uses a Basetao spreadsheet to track stuff she likes. Not for deep analytics or anything intense, just a simple, visual way to keep her fashion finds from disappearing into the internet void. I was skeptical at first—me, using a spreadsheet for fun? But the idea stuck with me.
Fast forward to a rainy Tuesday. I was supposed to be writing emails, but instead, I found myself looking at jackets. A specific kind of chore jacket, the slightly boxy, workwear-inspired kind. I must have seen it months ago on some obscure blog or another. I knew I’d never find it again through normal browsing. On a whim, I opened a new spreadsheet. I didn’t call it a “Basetao spreadsheet” in my head; it was just “That Jacket and Other Ideas.” I dropped the link in one column, a screenshot in another, and wrote a note to myself: “Looks like it would smell like a hardware store (in a good way).” It felt silly, but also weirdly satisfying. Like I’d captured a little piece of inspiration before it flitted away.
It’s become a bit of a quiet habit now. The other day, I was waiting for my laundry to finish, killing time on my phone, and I saw these amazing patchwork trousers. Instead of just liking the post and forgetting, I opened my little digital mood board and added them. I’ve started jotting down why something catches my eye. For those trousers, I wrote: “Reminds me of my grandma’s quilts, but cool.” It’s less about creating a shopping list and more about building a visual diary of what resonates. My style tracker, as I’ve come to think of it, is full of these non-sequiturs. It has links to a pair of neon-green socks next to a very serious-looking wool coat. The contrast makes me happy.
It’s funny how a simple tool can shift your perspective. I’m not planning outfits in advance or anything. It’s more passive than that. I’ll be walking to get a coffee, see someone with a great color combination, and make a mental note to look for a shirt in that mustard yellow later. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. But if I find one online, it goes into the spreadsheet. It takes the pressure off. There’s no “must buy.” It’s just a collection of “hm, that’s interesting.”
The best part is it’s completely disconnected from any algorithm. It’s not a saved folder on a shopping site that tries to sell me more of the same. It’s just my own weird, personal collection. It has the link to that chore jacket I’m still low-key hunting for, the graphic tee I rediscovered, and a picture of a ceramic button I saw on a coat once that I thought was beautiful. It’s all there, jumbled together. My friend would probably call it a proper Basetao spreadsheet, but to me, it’s just a helpful page where my scattered aesthetic thoughts go to live. It doesn’t dictate my style; it just holds a mirror up to it, showing me what I’m drawn to when I’m not overthinking.
Now, I’m sitting here, the late afternoon sun hitting my desk, thinking I might go for a walk. Maybe I’ll wear that old graphic tee. And if I see someone with a jacket that looks like it belongs in a toolbox, I’ll know exactly where to file that idea away.