Forever consigned to my closet
You can’t really call it a walk-in closet if it’s so cluttered you can’t walk in.
And so when the birds started chirping outside my window this week, I got the urge to do some spring closet cleaning.
Like many girls, I tend to get married to every well-cut black blazer, black skirt and pair of black slacks I’ve ever owned; the proof of this proclivity lies in my closet, which holds, and I’m not making this up, five black one-button blazers, six black skirts and most embarrassingly of all, 14 pair of black pants.
And this, of course, doesn’t include the black stretchy yoga pants, of which there are enough to hand out a pair to every woman in my yoga class and still have enough left over to not repeat for three weeks.
Some of these garments go back to when I first started dressing like a career girl, and that was 30 years ago. Things don’t fit the same way, of course, but there’s also this little problem with style. Things are cut differently now.
Why, then, the reticence to toss these things, or at least donate them? First of all, people who shop in thrift stores probably don’t want my castoffs. Then why don’t I throw them in the trash?
At least twice a year, I “have at” that closet, and each time, I encounter a certain black skirt. The label says Tahari, which means it probably wasn’t that cheap. I remember wearing it to a public speaking event. It was before I had my first child, and he’s about to turn 20 now, so do the math. If I wait a little while longer the skirt will qualify for vintage status.
The skirt is sort of flippy at the bottom, has a side zipper and is made of lightweight wool. I have not had that skirt on my person since probably 1996. And it’s still here.
Aren’t we taught that if we buy quality garments, we can wear them for years? Isn’t it smart to buy according to “price per serving?”
So I stood in the closet this week, holding that skirt in front of me. The moths had not found it yet. The zipper still works. I could pair it with a jacket.
Then the voice of reason speaks up: It’s old. It doesn’t really fit. You have a whole flock of other black skirts. And you almost never wear skirts anyway.
You’d think that would be enough to compel me to pitch it into the “donate” bag. But wait.
What if you toss it and then you decide you want to wear it?
That is the question standing between each of us and a clean, clutter-free existence. What if?
The question is a trap, of course. If the skirt were gone, I would never think of it again. If I need a black skirt, I’d wear a different one. Or buy something new.
I tossed it into the basket for the consignment shop, that hopeful mirage of a place – the place that we believe will value our castoffs so much they will pay us lots and lots of money for them.
I took about 20 items to the resale shop. They paid me about $18 for four things and handed me back the basket of rejects.
The black skirt was right on top.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.