Fashion is made to become unfashionable

Some other things.
Because I'm bored.
Like WHOA.

So, I cleaned out my closets yesterday.
It is considered by many, myself included, to be a blessing that I have not one, but two walk-in closets in my tiny studio apartment. So much so that I've chosen to honor this blessing by stuffing both full of clothing.
And my hallway.
And my couch.
And my floor.
And my bed.

Needless to say, the amount of clothing I own is somewhat of an issue.

The most depressing part (or...not depressing, depending on how one looks at it) is that this state of my obsession is most definitely scaled-down from the point it was two years. To prove my insanity: my wonderful mother and grandmother had to engage in what we jokingly (or not so jokingly) refer to as an *intervention*, wherein they recognized that I was indeed suffocating in the results of my shopping addiction, drove the four hours to my apartment and methodically went through my clothing piece by piece to determined what I needed, and what was simply there because I got bored and decided to go to Wet Seal.
I know.
Wet seal.
Gross.

I have since been rehabilitated, but only to the point that most of us can be. After all, I'm only human.
I still love pretty things.
I still get bored with stuff that I already have.
I still read magazines and lust after the treasures on the glossy pages.
Plus, Target still exists. So, there's that.

This cleansing became necessary when it was determined that there was know way in the physical or theoretical universe that my stuff was ever going to be able to inhabit the same space as someone else' stuff ...unless there was some reduction in volume.

So, reduce I did.
Lara kindly played the role of BFF and assisted me on this project. I think it's always easier to have someone there with you for moral support, and also to validate your decisions. I know that I always tend to talk myself into keeping things that I probably shouldn't keep while purging. This person must, of course, care about or have some sort of investment in your situation. As Lara so succinctly put it, she was "doing this for the good of yours [read: mine] and Blake's relationship." Amen.

We yanked everything out of both closets and divided it into four piles: a keep pile (laundry pile, really), a giveaway pile (all of this went to Vanessa because Amber and Lara are too tall for antyhing that would fit me), a Goodwill pile (for stuff that wouldn't fit Vaness or that she wouldn't want), and a throwaway pile (for stuff no one wants).

I kind of wish I had read this post before I embarked on this great adventure, but really when it came down to it Lara and I probably followed many of the same steps outlined. Jordan's blog is just much prettier than mine. I attempted to so something similar when I moved last July ( I move a lot, don't I?) but did not disgard nearly as much. Probably because I was by myself, and I convinced myself that I really needed a vast menagerie of bargain shirts from Charlotte Russe that were both ugly and cheap-looking. Seriously, what is with the origins of my former wardrobe being from stores meant for 16 year-olds? Ridiculous. I have plenty of beautiful clothing from Express and Nordstrom and Bloomingdales, and even some things from London and Paris and Italy and Spain . Yet I still waste my time, space, and money on nastiness that is worthy of little more than dishraggery.

So, all those went bye-bye.
Along with a few of the aforementioned "nice" pieces that I don't wear anymore, or were in disrepair.
I also decided to put some of my older but well-loved things in storage. Like t-shirts from high school and college that I don't necessarily want to wear but also can't bear to throw out. This, Lara allowed me to get away with.
She did not, however, allow me to get away with things like "but it's really cute" or "it might come back in style." She was a complete closet czar, if you will. She once again spouted a nugget of wisdom while justifying herself in saying, "Molly we are TOO OLD for embellished denim mini-skirts." Point taken.

In the end, I gave five bags of clothes to Vanessa, two to Goodwill, three to storage, and one to the trash. I even got ambitious and went through my shoes, purses, and jewelry too.

I must admit that although it was hard to let go of things in the moment, I don't miss anything that went into those garbage bags yesterday (yes, garbage bags. Ghetto, I know). Life feels...ligther, somehow. And everything the I ended up keeping I genuinely like.

Isn't it funny how *stuff* can evoke such strong emotions in us? After all, it's only fleeting. It comes and goes so quickly when compared to the broad spectrum of life. I'm not trying to preach; I am a member of the *Stuff* Makes Me Happy Club. It just feels must better and much more rewarding to get that feeling from a smaller number of things.

Plus, this means I'll have more room for new stuff.

Because as long as there's Etsy, I'll be okay.