I woke up this morning staring at that Cheesecake Factory menu-closet of mine, totally overwhelmed. I think if I were going to name this space and its contents like I named Jennabunkport, my she shed, I’d probably go with Seriously, WTF Was I Thinking?
I legit started to wonder if there was actually a pathology, with a name and everything, for the inability to part with out of style, misshapen sweaters. It turns out there sort of is, although it doesn’t appear to have a name yet. (I’d like to officially suggest clothesohoardophobia.) But if Google hits are any indication, apparently it’s a pandemic. According to the mother of all search engines, women have reams of clothes they don’t like and likely will never wear for the following reasons:
- We buy clothes too small in the hopes we’ll diet ourselves right down into them. (Nope. My weight never, ever changes. This is part of my problem, though. “But I wore these jeans before I had kids and they STILL FIT!”)
- We buy clothes and don’t wear them as punishment. (Um, also no. Not my style. If I tried to use this twisted logic on myself [“Sorry, but you were a very bad girl. The cashmere is off limits.”] I’d punch myself in the face and then take myself shopping just to spite me.)
- We buy things that are so beautiful/expensive/precious that we’re afraid to ruin them. (Again, negative. Life is short. USE THE DAMNED KNIVES.)
- As we get older, we think we’re not worthy of beautiful things. (Go to hell, internet. This honestly has never even occurred to me.)
- We buy for the fantasy and not for our real lives. (Fine. This one might be a thing. See: Cher jeans.)
Obviously the internet is drunk, because they left out IT WAS ON SALE, THEY HAD MAGIC MIRRORS AND REALLY GOOD LIGHTING IN THE FITTING ROOM and BUT I WORE THIS WHEN [insert completely benign occasion here] AND NOW ITS SPECIAL.
Anyway, there obviously is no shortage of options worthy of being deleted in this clusterfuck of a closet, and I could spend all day TRYING TO PICK JUST ONE, but this is supposed to be a fun and freeing exercise, not a torturous and time-consuming one, so here goes. Without further ado, I present to you THIS THING.
The many, many ways this is wrong really can’t be overstated. First of all, I don’t wear prints. Like EVER. Maybe on a scarf or sarong but even that’s rare. I’m a solid girl to the core. And the GOLD SEQUIN TRIM? I must have been feeling especially festive that shopping day. (Yes, I actually handed someone a stack of my hard earned money in exchange for this thing.) Can we talk about the belly bullseye? And what appear to be a pair of matching milk stains on the boobs? Also I think it might be silk. Or satin. Or some other slinky material that is typically reserved for lingerie and makes me feel like Mrs. Roper.
I have never worn this in public, FYI.
Buh-bye, paisley milk-boob sequin-stap cami! I’m sure you’ll be very happy in your new home.
PS New feature! If I’m getting rid of something you love (CERTAINLY NOT THIS THING but you know, ever), I’ll send it to you that day, you just pay for shipping! 🙂