..in an act of desperation

October 29, 2009 § Leave a comment

closet whore

I am beginning to understand why people write to fashion magazines and stylist to get them to give them clothes, rather than accumulating them over time. Currently in the process of packing up my summer gear [finally] to make room for heavy knits, coats and tights, tights, tights I recognized a pattern that I am not at all happy with. Estimated that I wear about less than half my closet more than the rest of my clothes, I am freaking out about what the hell to do with the rest of the crap that I love but never wear and worse, cannot throw out. Like that punk t-shirt that I snatched from Greg in my first year right before I stayed up all night and likely overdozed on Milano cookies before taking an 8 hour bus ride to NYC where I continuously fed myself lattes and hotdogs, getting compliments from 5 year olds on my outfit as a result of dressing up while high on sugar, alcohol and sleeplessness. Or that other t-shirt that RedBull people gave me for being the selected bartender in Worcester and I had about 4 hours to get the kids, and myself, as blacked out as possible. Needless to mention that my hangover lasted throughout the month and I arrived to my house that night at an unknown hour with unknown people.

These are the problems in my closet and because they exist not only in our dimension but also in my brain which makes it that much harder to get rid of them. Maybe I just need to close my eyes and only keep the black stuff I have, and add a few metalics and white shit here and there and call it my own “closet”. But we all know that I can’t do that. Which brings me to my extremely expensive, yet effective solution: moving. It is my understanding that people who have a bunch of different homes in a bunch of different places are the happiest. This way, they prevent the over-shopping and over-stuffing your closet experience and welcome their wide selection of clothing. Furthermore, this brings the true happiest moments of when they first arrive at a place they haven’t been in a while and they discover the hidden, or rather, forgotten gems in their closets, like when I started to take out my winter shoes and came upon my patent leather really really high top converse sneakers, or my little leopard patterned fake fur coat, or my black satin trousers, or my leather leggings, and so on.

So you get my drift, I am curious if I am the only one who thinks like this. I am also curious of how the good-dressing fashion-y folk live. Because I am sure their problems of their closets are even bigger than mine. They’re dealing with Louboutins and Chanels, not with a collaboration of garments that could dress close to 70 different experimental theater pieces*. True story.

*=I’m sure you got it, I just wanted to highlight that it’s MY closet that’s being referred to. And it really is the true story, I have pictures from college. And weekend nights.


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