Coming out of the Closet

"Women usually love what they buy, yet hate two-thirds of what is in their closets."  ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

Well, this is true for me, no doubt.  My struggles shopping for clothes are well documented in this space, but I'm coming along with that talent. I'm getting better at knowing what will fit and what won't, and some of my extreme pickiness has fallen by the wayside. On a recent trip, once I eliminated everything that didn't fit, and everything I didn't like, there were two white T-shirts and a package of tube socks left in my shopping cart, and that will not do.  I must report, however, that just the other day, I found the mythical chupacabra of women's clothing. A pair of dress pants, with no annoying buttons or zippers, crisp, comfortable fabric (with just precisely enough stretch) and…wait for it…pockets! Really, they exist, even for someone who isn't a double-zero.

Having recently managed to acquire a few key pieces of clothing that don't resemble convict clothing, my task now is the closet. Or, as it's referred to in my house, the abyss. While I drool over home improvement magazines that feature amazing walk-in closets that are bigger than my living room, my actual closet is long, dark, and narrow. There are some Home Depot shelves screwed to one wall and a spring-loaded rod that routinely falls down, but that's OK because nothing hangs on it. The shelves and the floor are covered with the flotsam and jetsam of 5 years worth of pants, jeans, shirts, and shoes that I tried to wear, forgot to wear, or am never, ever going to wear.

I read once that to clean out a closet, everything has to be sorted into two piles, "Keep" or "Donate." My closet needs a third pile called, "What was I thinking?"  Trying to get organized is a lifelong battle for me, but how hard could it be to manage one small 3 foot by 6-foot closet?

It's sort of like a treasure hunt, at least thinking that made it easier to dig in. Maybe there would be a $20 in the pocket of an ugly jacket? Perhaps I would find that Coach wristlet I scored at a yard sale and then lost track of? It could be right under the 19 pairs of yoga pants shoved onto the shelves. For someone who hasn't Namaste'd in like, forever, if I do decide to go all downward dog, I'm covered.

The jeans are the next to be dealt with. Pick a size, any size; chances are I have it. I have size 12s that fit and size 16s that are too small and so does every woman I know. Someone is screwing with us on this sizing issue, and when the sisterhood catches that guy, he will be eating pavement. I kept two pairs and they better last because they are exactly what I want and what feels right to wear. Also, they don't make that style anymore, of course.

When at last the floorboards of the closet can be seen, and there are a few Hefty bags of donations ready to go, it's not an abyss anymore but rather a lonely outpost of questionable fashion choices and way too many white, beige or light blue tailored shirts. My wardrobe is down to the bare bones of necessary pieces, with a couple basic black cocktail dresses hoping for a date night. For now, it's enough, but pretty soon I will have to shop again, to fill in the gaps. Working at home is convenient at times, but branching out and wearing a skirt or a bright green silk shirt now and then wouldn't kill me. A friend told me that if you're not taking a fashion risk at least once a week, you're not living your best life. She can wear anything and make it look good, but it's not because she's a perfect size 4, it's because she doesn't let a number on a tag define her.

I hung my new dress pants on a real hanger and placed them gently on the closet rod, which has been re-attached. Perhaps the shopping gods will continue to smile on me and eventually, there will be a tunic top or a funky sweater to go with them. I'm coming out of the closet, but I'll be back with a few more items soon enough. Does anyone want to go shopping with me?