Museum of Me

Earlier in the week, Krista Colvin, professional organizer and mistress of Organize in Style tweeted the following words:

Your closet is not a museum of who you used to be.

Fine words. I get it. My closet is not supposed to be a tribute to my former self/selves, but even with all of my (what I believed to be) rigorous weeding out of the old, my closet is still showing a few museum worthy relics.

The gallery includes:

The Outpatient Counselor: 3 pairs of grey slacks, 8 pairs of black slacks. I hate the word “slacks” but these office appropriate, wool blend, salutes to boring-ness can only be described as such. How does Ann Taylor stay in business now that I no longer work outside the home?

The 11th Grade Cheeleader: I really don’t wear this uniform as much as I should. Go Mariners!

The Bride: In keeping with our eloping/Las Vegas/attend-by-watching-the-live-streaming–ceremony-on-the-internet/happiest day of my life themed wedding, my “gown” is a white sundress from the sale rack at Macy’s. The veil is from a bridal supply store in LA’s garment district. I do not believe Bob will be wanting to wear this wedding dress to his own wedding (you never know) but I can not bear to part with it.

The Nightclubber: Vintage, black velvet car coat. This coat is still partying like it’s 1991. I can no longer remember exactly what went under this but I would imagine that black lace leggings were involved. This little number might be put to better use by my impossibly cool, sometimes goth, always gorgeous, goddaughter. On me, it gives a whiff of funky yet tragic bag lady.

The Attends Awards Shows Gal: I have not been to a black tie event in five years but you would not know this by perusing the depths of my closet. I will probably not be needing the black tea length ball skirt for Bob’s pre-school graduation ceremony.

My current self is about to be very popular at the Goodwill drop-off.