Part of my resolution this year is to organize my life. Today, my chore is cleaning up my image, well at least facing my closet head-on.
After a strong cup of coffee, I open the louver doors of my walk-in closet with a sense of ceremony that turns quickly into a sense of hopelessness. My closet is a mish-mash of this and that, pieces of color and texture so different from one another, yet each piece in its time an exciting treasure. Each garment is an individual find for its array of colorful attributes, comforting stylish textures and dynamic details—all acquired without regard to necessarily combining in anyway.
I am about to make a stab at cleaning up,while facing up to a new era of myself as a mature woman. So many possibilities of transformation and one realization—that a new time of my life is upon me, simple time, less formal, more carefree, and with a shifting, changing figure and an altering image of myself. I am in a new era of liberation completely over the idea of being a slave to trends. But still acknowledging trends set by a youthful standard, with an appreciative nod and maybe a purchase, thereby avoiding that dreaded look of an aging dowdy matron, which is so not me.
Looking back at each era gone by, I see a distinct image of myself struggling to keep pace with the fashion world. First, it was all about looking great to feel good, often working against my profile and happily sometimes very in tune to what statement I was attempting to make within the fashion structure of the time. In the beginning, clothes could be fitted like a glove on my young, vibrant in-shape body, while diaphanous fabrics making a very decorative statement exploiting my sexuality. Clothing was my identity. Next, it was about preoccupation with fashion itself, spending more money when there was precious little to spare, fueled by ambitious desire and very little logic.
Dreaming of a retrospective of my personal world of fashion sends me into peals of uncontrollable laughter.
In approaching this chore of cleaning up the clutter of my closet, there will be no room for sentimentality. Sorting through the past trends that once represented me: modern, artsy, bohemian, provocative, freewheeling, outrageous, elegant and sometimes classic. They are all happening here in my walk in.
Pragmatically, I gather colors together and separate by type. After some time it appears that, well, things are sort of sorting out, but “ugh” this is not to be an easy task of dispensing clothes. I remember wearing this geometric wool patched comme des garcon skirt at some fun art openings with my black enigmatic puzzle sweater by Ann Demeulemeester, and wow this magical silk Shanghai Tang jacket always made me feel exotic and alluring.
I need to assert my sense of new self and envision what that means to me. Following my instincts: out with all patterns with of course, an occasional exception. Anything over 2 years old and definitely everything that hasn’t been worn in the last two years. Out with the pouf. They are just taking up space, and I know of some charitable groups, like Dress For Success that gladly accept a generous donation.
My new look should define the changing me: confident, sophisticated, smart, calm, comfortable, relaxed, organized and uncluttered with my sense of femininity. Paring down what I do have to basic colors, and a narrow focused collection that is void of unnecessary detail yet retaining a style and functional design with inspired elegance, changed only by the seasons.
I adore the movement of fabric, movement with free reign; fabrics hold such chance for elegance along with comfort and style. And keeping alive a bit of freewheeling love of adventure by taking fashion risks with a touch of subtle ethnic.
After the morning spent reminiscing about my clothes and their relationship to my life, reality nudges my illusions and hope of some form of transformation stays aloof.
I think I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon curled up in my reading chair.