The Great Clothes-out

My wardrobe weeding-out tactic goes something like this. I wear a long-forgotten staple-type piece, such as a blouse, cardigan, or skirt, and if by the end of the day I find I hate said garment due to pilling or ill fit or what have you, then out it goes. Like a couch potato reaching for one last potato chip when she's already full (I should know, as I do this too), I sense I should just skip it. Because I know, deep down, that these pieces are doomed even before their final outings. In recent weeks I found myself tossing so much stuff that I realized more drastic measures had to be taken. So, I bit the bullet, hauled out the Goodwill-bound trash bags, and spent a weekend camped out in my closet.

I was appalled by the sheer amount of tacky tank tops, hideous blouses, stodgy dress pants, and dowdy dresses lurking amidst the racks. I don't even wear dress pants! (I'm too short, and they're too wrinkly and uncomfortable.) Granted, most of these items had been purchased years ago, most likely in the name of stocking up on "filler pieces" and the mistaken assumption that I could make even the most virulent polyester club top work. But such illusions were suddenly shattered. Each ruthless discard gave way to another, and before I knew it, I was downsizing with an abandon almost as gleeful as that which led to the shopping sprees in the first place.

I like to think that I've evolved into a more discriminating (if still prolific) shopper since then, bringing home only those pieces that have a great fit, fabric, and color. Nevertheless, I know I'll need to stay strong on future shopping trips, remaining impervious to the wiles of last-chance markdowns.

In the end, I filled four trash bags, one of which contained a depressing mountain of scuffed and scraped shoes. (I had the sense not to donate those.) Still, the mission lives on. Each day I think of more clothes to toss, imagining a fifth trash bag stretching to the girth of Santa's sack.

Maybe now I can put away all those new spring clothes I have hanging on the door of my purse closet. Which reminds me, the purse closet needs cleaning too . . .