We're not exactly friends. But I happened to watch Tim Gunn's Guide to Style on Bravo earlier in the week, and I did get a couple nuggets of fashion information that were enough to make me think, however briefly, about my wardrobe shortcomings. It also reminded me that I have a LOT of purging to do. Clothes purging, that is. But first it made me laugh. And it's still making me laugh.
Everybody knows the schtick of these shows: the impossibly perfectly put-together professional fashionistas descend upon the hopelessly fashion-backward Average Person, throw out all but 2 or 3 items from his or her sad, hideous, reasonably-priced, off-the-rack Average Person wardrobe, then take them shopping at places they can't afford, whisk them off to hair and makeup artists they'll never see again, and then do a big fasion show at the end where they get all gussied up and all their family and friends can't believe the Average Person they knew is now this Gorgeous Doll. Success!
What's making me laugh is this thought that keeps going around in my head: what would happen if Tim Gunn and Veronica Webb came to my house? I think of the carnage and brutal comments that would accompany the process of sorting everything I own into the famous four piles (Keepers, Menders, Give Aways and Throw Aways). And how gigantic the last two piles would be, and how teeeeny-tiiiiiny the Keeper pile would be.
And then there would be my resistance to this whole fashion thing. Mr. Gunn's motto on the show is "your style, my rules." I would have serious trouble with the rules part, because I'd have a non-negotiable set of my own:
- I know it's not pretty, but I must be able to put my hair in a ponytail when I exercize. I am a natural overheater, and I cannot cannot cannot stand to have my hair touch me when I'm hot.
- No dry-cleanables. Everything must be machine washable.
- No hair color, sorry.
- Only organic hair products.
- Only organic cosmetics.
- Foundation? Um, no.
- You think I'm wearing mascara every day? Not a snowball's chance.
- I can't go to work looking too put-together. I work in software. You look too put-together and you get labeled as "marketing" or "legal". You instantly lose credibility. This is the West Coast.
- I'm not going to spend a ba-jillion dollars on clothes. And shoes, bags, and whatever all else goes into the mix. (Though I could probably be convinced to invest more heavily in the Ten Essentials, maybe.)
- There's no way I'm walking the dog in a dress! Even if I had a dog! (On the episode I saw, the lovely young subject got a sundress, cardigan sweater, ballet flats and a sweet little purse as her "Sweatsuit Alternative". During the show it was labeled as her "Dog Walking Outfit". Right. Can you imagine? Rover's jumping all over the place because he's ready to Go! Come on! Come on! But wait, I need to thow on my dress, oops- forgot to shave my legs, now my little shoes, oh I need my little bag, oop- just some foundation, a little bronzer, some lip gloss and mascara and 20 minutes later I'm ready to go. Meanwhile Rover has peed on the rug, and the trio of dog-slobber tennis balls and plastic poop bags are ruining your perfect little look anyway.)
But the show did motivate me to do some evaluation and purging. This is a struggle for me, as I am a notorious hoarder. I have boxes and boxes and boxes of old clothes in the attic. Most got packed away as I steadily gained weight over the last 20 years, and kept because I thought "I'll fit into these again", and I either thought the articles were of good quality or had some sentimental attachment to them. This leads to having a crate of 57 outdated pairs of jeans in your attic, and another with 52 pairs of shorts. You think I'm exaggerating, but sadly, I'm not. The weight issue is now (finally) trending in the other direction, and I did go through the jeans not too long ago. My prize for keeping 57 pairs of jeans for 20 years? Some good laughs, the satisfaction of having most of those jeans fit again, yes indeed, thank you very much, one old pair of Levis that has become my new yardwork jeans since my current yardwork jeans have gotten too big, and another look at my impossibly small size 9 skinny jeans I last wore in college in 1987. Yup, that's right - 1987. Yes, I am aware that it's 2007. And yes, even I know that despite the weight issue trending the other direction, it ain't gonna trend far enough for this gal to get into those jeans.
Yesterday I started on the box of shorts. One would think I could just take all 52 pairs straight to Value Village without looking, yes? And they'd be right. But here's where the hoarder disease comes back. At first I laugh with every pair of shorts I pull out of the box. "Why on earth have I kept these? Even if they did fit, I wouldn't wear them!" Let's just say that if ridiculously high-waisted, pleated, super-wide-legged Bermuda shorts come back in style, I'm totally set. But if fashion repeats in 20-year cycles, my MO appears to be this: hold onto out-of-style clothes for 18-19 years, finally give them away, laughing at how hideous they are, a year or two before they come back. Ask me how many pairs of leggings I got rid of last year. Someone tell me to just cart off the shorts and buy a new pair if they come back next summer, won't you? Help a girl out.
