Clothing Loathing: The (not so) Great Purge

You only need one pair of pants and one shirt for the week.

                                                            The Waynus (my dad)

When I was in my early teens, my mom and I would go school shopping every August.  We would spend the day at Glenbrook Mall starting at 10 a.m., stop for lunch at the food court overlooking the indoor ice rink, and then wind down, exhausted, by splitting one of those giant chocolate chip cookies at the Great American Cookie Company.   I dutifully modeled each outfit for my dad as he had a martini before supper.  As I ran up and down the stairs to change, Mom would say, “That was a great bargain!” Sometimes she would tell me not to bring out a particular item, saying, “Daddy doesn’t need to know about this one yet.”  We had our secrets, as Mom would carefully parse the line between what I wanted and how much she knew Dad wanted to spend on things as unimportant as school clothes.  When both your parents spend their formative years during the Depression, it’s pretty hard to convince them of the need for Calvin Klein jeans or Izod shirts, both of which were essential at Homestead High School.   

Unfortunately, neither my mom or I were sensitive to fashion trends, so it wasn’t until the first week of school that I would find out either a) every other girl had bought the same exact shirt I had, or b) bell bottoms had gone out of style without my noticing, both of which happened in seventh grade.  This was in contrast to a friend, Melissa, who had a seemingly endless supply of different-colored corduroys with matching sweaters.  She hardly ever wore the same clothes within two weeks, much less within one week.  

That year, a store that specialized in low prices for flawed designer items (a precursor to TJ Maxx and Marshalls) opened at Times Corner, the local shopping plaza.  Mom was in Germany with her church choir, but when I saw that the store had Calvin Kleins on sale, I knew I had to get there.  Somehow, I convinced my dad to take me and buy those jeans on a Sunday morning instead of going to church (I just knew they would be out of my size should we wait until afterward).  At last!  No more bell bottoms.  Unfortunately, some of my peers were quick to discern that I was wearing the same pair of jeans every single day and called my (and everyone else’s) attention to it.  When parents attempt to comfort you by saying nobody notices fashion faux pas but you, rest assured they know nothing about the scrutiny of teenage girls.       

The shame and humiliation of not having the right clothing, along with not having the right parents who understood this, has followed me.  I remember the first time I was able to wear a different pair of pants every day of the week.  I was like, “Take that, bitches.”  By then, though, it didn’t matter. 

My clothing and fashion woes continue.  I am truly my father’s daughter, in that I can’t find it in my heart to spend full-price on any clothing item, unless there’s a special occasion and I’m desperate.  The thing that gets me now, though, is the pace of the trends.  I can’t keep track of which color is in, and which season you can wear it.  I was also a little late with the longer hems on pants, and still haven’t figured out where my dresses and skirts are on the continuum between hussy and prude.  The rules changed once I hit my 40’s, but since I didn’t know what the rules were in the first place, I’m not sure how. 

All of this indecision—along with a loathing for trying on clothes--led to a glut of stuff that doesn’t fit right, look right, or is possibly out of fashion (not that I would know).  Thus, there are now five giant garbage bags full of said clothing destined for a spring garage sale.  This Great Purge, though, is apparently not great enough.  I still have two small closets and two dressers filled with clothes, most of which fit into three categories:  running, yoga, or school.  It would be easy to just stick with the basics—white t-shirts and khaki shorts for summer, black for school—but I haven’t given up on the fantasy that someday I will wake up and know what’s in fashion, what looks good on my particular frame, and what’s cool but appropriate for women in their 40’s.  I welcome any help, but if you’re like me, you might want to check out our garage sale in May.