Moving offered magnificent opportunity for sorting through the various garments in my closet, something that had somehow previously been difficult. This seems odd because I am not generally sentimental. I love living in an old house, I love that I have, and use daily, items made by and/or used by my grandparents and great grandparents, but I don't keep things just because they have history. I think there is a connection between things and the earth and our lives, but I am not sentimental. I can usually give away things I've made, or that came down to me from people I know. My memories are not dependent on the things, and yet the things we surround ourselves with are still a part of who we are.
But back to the closet. I already knew this was my house, and the previous house was just a holding area. Through finding a house, I also in a sense, found myself, and sorting became easier. I also knew I would spend a month in transitional housing. I had two basic goals:
1) pull out clothes that would see me through that transitional space (May) and the rest of the summer (June-August), therefore giving me time to unpack the house and settle in without having to worry about what I would wear,
and
2) just sort through the clothes and eliminate anything that obviously wasn't working.
Dresses were the easiest place to start as they really don't have to match anything else. The questions were simple: did it fit? Had I worn it? Would I wear it? A few things were obvious. A hand-knit alpaca dress was a no-go, despite the fact that I love it, because it is too hot to wear in Knoxville. Even when it is cold outside, buildings are heated. That dress suffered the same fate in Hyde Park -- it was too hot to wear in any heated building. It would be fabulous if I lived in a drafty old castle, or perhaps during a power failure. Chalk it up to education and move on. If, when I find myself in my 70s or 80s, I am always cold, I can always knit another dress.
Then it was time for everything else. I started with bottoms, and laid them all out around the master bedroom. Then I went through everything else in my closet (except undergarments and jewelry) and put it in the appropriate pile, the bottom piece I decided it went best with. I wasn't worried about pieces that could be used in multiple ways, I was just looking for what worked. If a stack didn't contain at least three pieces, one bottom and two tops, out it went. If there was a top that literally went with nothing in that room, out it went. The pile of widows and orphans was larger than the piles of keepers, and they were all donated, sold, or given away. What truly surprised me was the way the things that remained complemented each other. What remained was a wardrobe that looked like it belonged to one person, a wardrobe where most of the pieces would work together rather than against each other.
I stacked the things that would work for late-spring and summer on the bed and packed everything else. This is what was left, 35 pieces of clothing (I'm not counting shoes or scarves here). Less two pairs of pajamas, each of which I counted as one piece, one swimsuit, and four summer dresses, I was left with a wardrobe of 28 mix-and-match pieces to cover every activity from working-out to dressing-up.
The wardrobe has worked fairly well. Three pieces that were needed for a trip to Chicago in early May, pieces which contained wool, were swapped out upon my return. They were replaced by three t-shirts, purchased at Uniqlo, also while in Chicago.
A few things didn't work. They gray cardigan in the center of the picture doesn't thrill me anymore and I don't enjoy wearing it. Another, more fitted, sweater has taken its place. The deep periwinkle shorts, and lighter periwinkle shirt, which were already pretty heavily worn, got covered in paint and retired. A favorite, lightweight sweatshirt, perfect for early mornings or cool evenings, progressed from threadbare-but-still-in-one-piece to tatters. The remaining clothes work together well, and my wardrobe does not feel at all limiting or restrictive. If anything, it feels incredibly generous. I probably wear more of my clothes now than I did when there were more clothes in my closet.
Or at least it didn't feel restrictive until the last week or two. As we progress into summer heat, navy woven slacks and dark jeans feel hot and heavy, at least psychologically. I wanted something lighter and a touch of midsummer madness set in. I went shopping, ostensibly looking for something white or off-white but ending up with acid yellow and pale blue chinos, both from Anthropologie, shown above and below. They actually work better in my wardrobe than white would have. I counted six different outfits that work with the yellow, and at least another four for the blue chinos, if not more. The navy slacks are out until September; the dark jeans remain, with reservations.
I've learned a few things. I've got a better sense of what I like to wear and have a wardrobe that supports that reality. I am not, ultimately concerned about numbers in the closet. Although I started with 35 garments, I am not really interested in adhering to rules, or adhering to a program like project 333. Even though I am talking about clothes for 3 to 4 months, this wardrobe is not 1/4 or 1/3 of my wardrobe. Although there are a handful of garments that are only worn one season, most of these clothes are worn at least through three seasons, if not all year. These 35 garments represent half my complete wardrobe in its current state, and hopefully eventually will represent more than half. Even in this America, land of overstuffed closets, it feels like a lot. But as I said, I am not really interested in numbers but in use, and it is not about whether I have more than some (I do) or less than others (also true). I want the things I have to work for me; I do not want to be a slave to them.
Through this whole process I learned that my closet is still too heavily weighted toward winter clothes. Of course, I like winter clothes more than summer clothes, and I moved here from New York State, where winter was a much more significant season than summer. Still, I am aware I have too much. When we move into winter, I will repeat this process, and winnow the collection down to the things that really work here, for the life I have now. Choice is a privilege after all
But, although there is no point in keeping basic things that I don't wear, I'm not going to give up something special just because it is worn only rarely. A silk party dress that only comes out occasionally stays, as will two bulky hand knit sweaters that I may wear only once or twice a winter, if we have a cold winter, and not at all if it is warm. They are going to stay until they fall apart because I love them so, because I panic when I can't find them. But these items aren't just another back pant, another gray turtleneck, another basic in a sea of basics.
I do think the whole process of packing and unpacking, the process of moving, has really made me think about what I have and why I have it. I don't really need a bunch of things for "just in case". In my dream wardrobe perhaps I'll have fewer basics, the 28 may be reduced to 15 or 20, or not. Basics can always be replaced after all, and more special pieces that make those basics sing. But there is no point to clothes that sing only in the closet, behind closed doors. Better to have what I use and use what I have. Better to have what I need and to use what I love.
