Saturday, April 07, 2007

That's Played Out

There comes a point when it's just time to say goodbye (like when you are moving), and so far I've filled 3 boxes plus an extra large Target shopping bag full of goodbye from my closet. It's hard for someone like me with a huge sense of "waste not, want not" that often comes at the expense of any sense of fashion I could otherwise have in that spot. Mixed up as it is, Tom gradually became my fashion sense, and without him, I'd still be wearing stirrup pants and shoulder pads. Maybe even neon. And 80's perm big hair with bigger bangs.

It all started a few years back when I would regularly leave the house in stirrup pants and one of those very long sweaters that goes down to about mid-thigh. This was up until probably as recently as 3-5 years ago, well past the prime of this fashion choice. Back when I was in college in the mid-90's, this was perfectly acceptable attire (well, I think it was anyway, but then, I probably had no fashion sense back then, either). It never even occurred to me that I was committing a crime of fashion or that one quick peek around any room would have tipped me off that I was the only one dressed that way. I was blissfully oblivious. Then slowly, and I'm not even sure how, Tom somehow slipped messages into my mind as I slept or something to where I actually started looking around and saw that what I was wearing really was not OK in this decade. For the longest time, Tom wouldn't really say anything directly about this little problem of mine because even though he knew it was wrong, it didn't bother him if I wanted to leave the house like I was in a time-warp, and he didn't want to hurt my feelings (women can sometimes be sensitive to stuff like that if you say "by the way, everything you wear is wrong"). Gradually, as I started to catch on, I would ask him things like "do the shoulder pads in this sweater look too 80's?" or "do you think these leggings are OK to wear in public?," and he always just seemed to know what was right or not. So I started wearing less of that kind of stuff from "back in the day" and tried to at least be within this decade even if I will never be confused for a very now fashion kind of girl. I do draw the line at personal comfort - if it isn't comfortable or doesn't feel like "me," I'm not wearing it, but it turns out that there are plenty of choices beyond leggings, stirrup pants, too long sweaters and shoulder padded everything, so I've made it through the transition without much scarring.

But I kept all of those sins in my closet. Just in case. Not in case they come back into fashion (because I probably wouldn't notice for another decade anyway), but just in case I want to wear them again because I just do. And so with a bold flash of "oh my God we have to move, and I have so many old clothes that I just have to weed out," I started mercilessly sorting through my closet and ridding myself of my fashion shortcomings. By now, Tom is not shy about telling me something from my youth is no longer OK because I've asked him to help me not leave the house wearing something I'll be embarrassed about when I think of it 5 years later and realize how bad it was. So Tom kicked back on the bed and watched as I pulled things out one by one. For the most part, I think I was doing a really stellar job for someone like me, but once in awhile I would need his help in moments of weakness.

Like the ultra-thick and very warm sweater that does happen to land mid-thigh and has some geometric kind of design and kind of screams a decade or more ago (especially with the maroon leggings that go with it). Tom helped me to let it go. I did, however, keep it's twin that is just as cozy but has a more timeless motif (well, in my opinion anyway, just not in Tom's).

Or like the very floral "thing" that I'm not sure has a technical name - think pantsuit/dress where it's a one-piece that is probably almost technically a pantsuit, but the legs hit mid-shin and are so flared that it gives the illusion that it is a actually a dress. I had the delusion that this illusion was acceptable, but with Tom's help at looking at it more objectively, I realize that it does look pretty strange. Into a goodbye box.

Or like this really warm skiing jacket I have (and have only worn once, the day I tried downhill skiing, which I will never do again, which is a new story for a new day). The jacket is black and goes really well with my black snow pants (also worn once - same day). The jacket is lined with fleece, and there's a part of the collar where you can see the fleece. Problem is that the fleece is neon pink. And there are other neon pink, neon green and neon yellow accents throughout this piece of attire. I was having trouble with the thought of putting it in one of the goodbye boxes. Then with one sentence, Tom brought me to my senses.

"Neon? That's played out."

I did insist on keeping my one "good suit" that I bought in the mid-90's for my interview for the Japan job thing (and it worked! even with the big bangs I know I had because they are in my passport picture), even if it has shoulder pads and big gold buttons that made Tom ask me if my next interview would be for a cruise line. A friend at work suggested that I could just trade out those buttons for less gaudy ones and be good to go, so I'm glad I resisted.

Oh, and I did keep my one favorite pair of leggings that have a texture like corduroy with thick cords. Just in case.

Most of the rest of the items that are "played out" are in goodbye boxes on their way to the nearest donation site this weekend so that others can take my pain away if they so desire.


  1. OMG I am just dying with laughter. This was so funny. Best line:

    "I actually started looking around and saw that what I was wearing really was not OK in this decade."

    I HATE clothes - picking them out, making sure they match, washing/drying/folding them. Yuck. I'd wear sweat pants and t-shirts every freakin' day if I could.

  2. Amen, Tasina, amen. T-shirts and sweat pants.


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