
An Open Letter to My Wardrobe
Dear Wardrobe,
Let me just get something off my chest: I’m not sure how I feel about you. We’ve been through some ups and downs over the years, and it’s starting to wear on me.
Sometimes you make me feel good about myself. Sometimes, I even feel attractive. Other times, you make me feel fat, unmotivated, and lazy.
So, I’ve decided to make a few changes.
Let’s start with sweatpants. I typically refer to you as my “BIGS”, which are comfortable, of course, and you’ve been there for me during the rough times. But, I regret to inform you that you have been replaced by yoga pants. I do yoga about once a year, but hey, they look good, and the added lycra helps during, er, those times when I feel big but want to project a skinny image. It’s not that I don’t want you around anymore sweatpants, it’s just that I’ve outgrown you. Maybe someday, when I’m old, we’ll meet again.
Moving onto jeans. Why are you so mean to me? I like the added lycra, and the low-wasted, below the muffin-top style, but you shrink in the dryer, and don’t bounce back to the normal size until I’ve suffered through a full day of not being able to sit down comfortably. Yet somehow, I’m willing to put up with the pain and discomfort you give me. I guess that’s love. Or, maybe that’s co-dependence.
Some things I just can’t live without. I’m talking to you, jackets. You line my closet in multiple colors and styles, and offer me comfort from the cold, snow, and rain, regardless of the temperature, which is good, because I’m always freezing. Just like a good man, you are sturdy, reliable, and warm. Except for you, Parka. You know who you are. The one with the broken zipper. I am kicking you to the curb.
Then there is the turtleneck collection. I don’t even like admitting that I have one. It’s not really a love/hate thing, it’s more of a need/not need thing. The cold weather comes around, and you start to look good. I rarely feel good putting you on, but then again, I’d rather not freeze my arse off. It’s a tough call. You do have some competition this year — scarves. At least 20 of them — wool, cotton, AND silk, which add much needed pizzazz to my outfits. I haven’t made any decisions yet, but you turtlenecks may be on the next shipment to Good Will. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
What about you socks? Where are you hiding? We can’t exactly work on our relationship if I can’t find you. I know I abandon you in the summer, but really. Help me out.
What’s up with you, shoes? You know I pine for you. Some of you more than others, I wholeheartedly admit. Truth be told, some of you fancy pairs just don’t fit. I should have listened to my head and not my heart when I walked out of the store with you, knowing that my high arches would scream at me. You look fantastic, and I try to get past the pain, but sometimes, I just can’t. I guess I’m just a sucker for good-looking shoes. You sneakers, on the other hand, never let me down.
Skirts and dresses: I respect you more than you know. I wish I could wear you every day. You brighten my closet, and remind me that fancy is fabulous. Well, I suppose I could wear you every day, and I’m not sure why I don’t. Maybe it’s because you and fancy shoes are a package deal.
Bathing suits: I always look at you with a suspicious eye…and will never stop comparing my one piece to my two-piece, as if you are in direct competition with each another.
T-shirts: My soft spot. You hold a special place in my heart, and my drawer. Some of you I have held onto since high school, and take out once in a while, just to reminisce. You smell like a dusty room that hasn’t been occupied in years…frozen in time, and I’m ok with that.
No wardrobe is perfect, and I guess I probably shouldn’t expect it to be. After all these years, what I’m really trying to say is, it’s me, not you. Except for you, Parka. That’s all you.
Fashionably yours,
Paula
