It
may seem odd that, in writing about fashion, today’s topic is getting
rid of clothes. You heard me. Donate it. Throw away what can’t be
donated. Or, if you have to keep it...organize and box it.
This advice is not new. In Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style and The
Pocket Stylist by
Kendall Farr, the first suggestion is just that: get rid of what
doesn’t work. On the television show What Not to Wear, hosts Stacey
and Clinton rummage through the participant’s wardrobe to rid it of
dated clothing, too large or small garments, and tacky pieces. Persons
of true sophistication will tell to rid yourself of any piece that
isn’t perfect. Which, if you are most people, doesn’t leave much.
Despite vicariously enjoying the reinvention of self through the
purging of bad clothes via reality television, I’ve never followed
this advice. Recently, my closet expanded so much that I decided to
take out the doors. Because I still live with my family, I’ve been
lamenting that an apartment is just what I need, so that I can fill it
up with the accumulation of all the clothes I never wear and all the
nicknacks I never use. It wasn’t until recently, when a very
fashionable friend of mine, Sarah, (who is a New Yorker, so it’s
rather expected) shared an article from The Times called Six
Pieces or Less (link: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/22/fashion/22SIXERS.html).
The concept is to pick six pieces from your wardrobe and wear only
those for a month. The purpose is to show how little we really need
and limit consumerism. Plus, it’s an environmentally friendly
practice. Sarah decided to go through with the challenge.
But I can’t. Simply put. I guess I’m too vain and obsessive about what
I wear, too much of a fashionista to risk a repeat. But her dedication
(and yes, Sarah has an expansive closet as well) to reduce, reuse, and
recycle has led me to de-skeleton my closet.
When I buy clothes, I buy for potential--I
imagine altering this or that--rather than looking at the actual fit.
Usually, the alterations (if I ever get to them) don’t really work
because these pieces just aren’t meant for my body type, no matter how
much I want them to be. So, the first thing I rid my closet of was
clothes that looked great on the hanger but poorly on me-- shoulders
that were too wide, bust lines that were too low, pockets that were
disproportionately large for my 5’ frame. This was the hardest thing
to do because the garments looked gorgeous hanging.
After I had rid myself of unflattering trousers, blazers, blouses,
sweaters, skirts, and dresses (many of which were hard to part with
because I made them myself) I decided to add clothes that I simply
never wore (for whatever reason) to the donation bag. Next, I searched
through my sock drawer and threw away mismatches that had been lonely
for ages and tights with holes in them that I felt the need to keep,
just in case. (Just in case what, I don’t know.)
I
don’t wear pajamas. I wear t-shirts to bed. But I had two drawers of
pajamas. So, I set aside all pj pants but one fleece, two cotton. I
also donated any t-shirts that did not have a particular sentimental
value, which left me mostly with various Harry Potter shirts. Then, I
repeated all of this with my accessories.
Finally, I organized everything by piece and color. I viewed my
complete wardrobe, clutter-free. Now, I’ll be able to see if there’s
anything I need. And I’m more than able to see that there’s plenty I
didn’t.
I’ve always thought that what a person wears tells an important story.
But now I realize that what a person doesn’t wear tells a story, too.
My two overstuffed trash bags headed for Goodwill have a lot to say
about me. The piles of unfitted dresses show that I often choose the
world of ideas over the world of reality. The tattered garments I
haven’t worn since ninth grade reveal I revere objects as substitutes
for the people who gave them to me. And the pieces of fandoms and
subcultures I’ve outgrown but am not willing to entirely give up show
that there is still a little bit of me that holds onto my childhood.
These may or may not be good things, but one thing is for certain:
cleaning out my closet has proven to be more revealing than I thought.
