Dressed for Success

I was thinking today how I really ought to get rid of about 90% of the clothes overflowing my closet and dresser drawers. Most of them are things I’m never, ever going to wear (even if I do find myself working in an office again). After all, I work in publishing and don’t plan to suddenly make a switch to corporate finance. Talk about a business that created "casual Monday." I don’t need to have four "power suits." Okay, so when I visit the office, people aren’t dressed in my current favorite, which is basically workout clothes until I’ve worked out and showered, and then shorts and a tank top (no shoes), but they are wearing shorts. Somehow, though, I just don’t seem to be able to part with much (especially shoes, which I’m hardly wearing at all these days).

I hate anything that makes me seem like a typical "societally-defined" female, so what’s with this clothes and shoe obsession? I’m also not one who normally has a "the-more-the-better" attitude about things (well, material things, anyway). I’m someone who can blithely give away almost anything (expensive jewelry I know I can’t be bothered to take care of, fancy kitchen gadgets that never get used, even books I know I can easily pick up at a library if needed. You name it, if I’m in a "this-house-is-too-damn cluttered" mood, you’d better hang onto anything you don’t want to have to buy back from The Good Will), but show me that sleeveless hot pink blouse I bought three years ago and have only worn once, and I’ll suddenly find myself thinking, "Yes, but I just might need that for a summer pool party." Forget the fact I never attend summer pool parties.

What makes it all the more ludicrous is that I despise shopping (except shopping with my mother who can walk into a store, pick something off the racks I would never have dreamed would be right for me, suggest I try it, and the next thing I know, I’m walking out of the store with something that will become an all-time favorite. She should have been a personal shopper). The idea of spending an afternoon at the mall is about as appealing to me as spending a night on General Zaroff’s island. I want all these clothes I see that look so great on others, but I don’t want to have to make any effort to get them. I just want them magically appearing at my house in the perfect size, making me look slim and beautiful. How on earth did I manage to accumulate all these clothes? Granted, online shopping has greatly increased the size of my wardrobe, but then, of course, I always run the risk of having to return things, especially pants, which are particularly hard to buy when you’re not 5’8" tall, so it still isn’t ideal.

Every time I decide to start going through my clothes with an eye towards getting rid of stuff, though, I rationalize everything I own as something I might need for a business trip. You know, God forbid someone might see me wearing the same suit in Chicago that she saw me wearing in D.C. six months ago. I’m sure she was taking meticulous notes on Emily’s wardrobe. And by the end of this little exercise, in which I’ve maybe found a couple of stained blouses and a ripped t-shirt to discard, you’d think my business trips rivaled a 19th-century debutante’s visits to London or something, with a need to change clothes every hour on the hour.

Maybe I should start using this stuff. Maybe I should start getting up in the morning and dressing as though I had somewhere to go. Nah. If I suddenly find myself taking a wrong turn on the way to the post office and end up on General Zaroff’s island, even if women in the movies can escape such dangerous games dressed fetchingly in 4-inch pumps and a tight pencil skirt, I know I’m going to want to be dressed in my workout togs.