Everything is a copy, except, of course, the dress I wore on my 20th birthday; that stunning yet equally hellishly itchy wool sweater that I will never muster up the nerve to wear; my stained coat with the butter soft fur collar and pocket holes; and my ratty sweatpants that read “New York” on the butt. I have no true affiliation to New York other than a deep longing to belong there. The dress I wore on my 20th birthday cost $10 and still smells like a peculiar mix of stale booze and a vanilla perfume stick. My collection of hellish wool sweaters takes up half my shelf space. And the fur collar, how could I part with a fur collar even if it is attached to half a dozen holes and stains? This is my internal dialogue as I tower over the sea of clothes oozing out of my closet in waves, washing up on my bedroom floor.
The best part of my particular first world dilemma, one that you probably share, is that I wear a variation of the same uniform everyday. It isn’t a carefully curated ensemble designed to both flatter and represent my individuality– although, that would be lovely. Instead, it’s had the misfortune of being composed through a process I choose to call the subconscious process of elimination. You have likely engaged in it, too.
Subconscious process of elimination usually occurs in the early hours of the morning, and is strongest from about 7 – 9 a.m. It most often begins with pants; you find a pair that really work for you and while you know other pants that work for you are out there, you’ll discover them later, always later. These particular pants do you well. They’re probably dark and you’ve likely told yourself no one notices how often you wear them. If pants inhabited the animal kingdom, these would be lions– they’ve won the battle between other rival leg wrappers. Add the above description to any other garment of clothing you cling to religiously and there it is: Subconscious process of elimination.
Unfortunately, subconscious process of elimination does not bode well with spring cleaning. Spring cleaning only highlights how rigid your process of elimination has become, “I own this?! How fantastic!” You exclaim as you rummage through the back of your closet. You have revelations about exactly how much stuff you own that you never wear. You realize how guilty you are of clothing monogamy. “Time to give some stuff away,” you think to yourself. But no, wait just a second, you can’t give that away, or that.
Shout “diet motivation” from your balcony while flailing a pair of jeans from the early 00s over the railing, call it sentimental value that no one could possibly understand, convince yourself that your impending DIY project will transform it into haute couture, it doesn’t matter what route you choose (I usually take all three), none of the above are going to accomplish your final goal: Cleaning out your closet.
But something changed for me this April. Maybe it was the grey winter or my shoebox apartment, or the fact that my subconscious process of elimination skills were flaring. Whatever it was, it manifested into an ability to untie the knots I had fastened together with unworn clothing. Like the end of a bad relationship, I let nostalgia and freedom breed together as I stood in front of my newly organized closet. It was a light brand of freedom, like the kind you get after the salesperson hands over the shopping bag and says, “Have a good day!” It was reverse retail therapy. It felt good.
Here’s what I learned:
1. Pants come in multiple colours and varieties, the most intimidating of which is white. Don’t throw these away. The optimism required to wear white pants can be cultivated by performing a fashion show for your roommate. Wine optional.
2. There is a time and place for the wool sweater from your grandmother, but precious closet space is neither of the two. A box with a collection of wool sweaters neatly folded under your bed frees up space and, with them out of your direct line of sight, you can stop feeling guilty for not wearing them every time you open your closet.
3. Awkward-fitting impulse buys and over-caffeinated trips to thrift stores are your own mistake. You’ve learned your lesson, right? Right. Throwing all those un-wearables away and putting a smile on your friend’s face as you fork over a bundle of clothes is the best refund you’re going to at this point.
4. You own a skirt and your boyfriend likes it when you wear it. It makes jeans feel like leg stranglers. You already own it. Keep it. Wear it.
5. Just because it was expensive or you bought it in Prague doesn’t mean it’s worth keeping. These items really place a strain on the whole cleaning process. Beware of them. Obviously there are exceptions here, but the paisley print harem pants you bought in Europe three summers ago can go. Same goes for those low-rise flared contraptions called Habituals or True Religions. We know you paid $350 for them at Aritzia a few years ago and the sales lady told you they looked amazing. But no.
6. “It’s a good sleeping shirt” only goes so far. No one needs that many “good sleeping shirts.”
7. Cashmere does not justify the fact that you shrunk it in the wash 6 months ago. Sweaters 4 sizes too small are not “in.” If they ever are, don’t wear them.
8. Position workout gear somewhere easily viewed. Enough said.
9. Don’t get rid of the few articles of clothing you wore on momentous life occasions (note: exercise caution when defining “momentous.”) The back of your closet exists for a reason. THIS ISN’T AN EMINEM SONG.
10. Actually, yes, people do notice that hole.
You can’t get a restraining order against every sale and trendy Queen West shop, but at least after the mildly painful procedure of cleaning out your closet, you can utter the sentence “I have no clothes” an average of 1-3 times less per week. It’s a start.
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Claudia McNeilly writes for Toronto Standard. You can follow her on twitter at @claudiamcneilly.
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