(photo via rocket_ship)
I have a very complex relationship with my wardrobe. Sometimes the contents of my closet make me feel exuberant, confident, and sassy--I'm so proud of these clothes I have collected and the way they flatter my figure and express my personality. And other times these very same clothes make me feel stifled, frumpy, and angry.
Yesterday morning was one of these "other times."
I found myself collapsing dramatically into a pile of cardigans on my bed, choking back tears and declaring, "I hate everything I own. Everything. I just hate it!" I wanted to go on a shopping spree or join a nudist colony or at the very least, hire Bruce Willis to drill a nuke into my closet and blow it up so mankind could be spared from seeing these awful clothes ever again. [New 2010 goal: less Armageddon references, more allusions to the works of Nabokov.]
Anyway, during these emotional moments in my cardigan pile, I got to thinking that this complex relationship I have with my wardrobe isn't unlike the complex relationship one might have with a boyfriend or girlfriend or sibling or parent. Sure, sometimes we treat each other terribly, but deep down, we really love each other. And the good times far outweigh the bad.
If my wardrobe and I decided to go to couples counseling to work on our relationship, here are a few things I would want to say:
- Sometimes I feel like you don't support me. But maybe I'm expecting too much from you, especially that six year old bra I keep wearing instead of donating to the local historical society.
- You definitely deserve better treatment, so I will try to pick you up off the floor more often. I will also try to stop yelling "I HATE YOU.
- I need you to be more flexible. Mostly when I eat too much pasta.
- I know I need to stop looking for a cheap thrill at TJ Maxx whenever I get bored with you, but be patient with me, OK? Old habits die hard.
- Sorry I keep a Goodwill bag in the closet and throw random things in it over the course of weeks or months. That must sort of feel like being held hostage and not knowing which of your friends is going to be taken away next. Stress central.