Warning! This post may bore you to tears. Or you may laugh and recognize yourself.
Hey, it’s a beach read, slouchy, easy…and people love it when I air my dirty laundry (in this case, pants) in public. Here goes.
I invited my DD to be the voice of reason as I tackled, Marie Kondo style, the pants section of my closet. As I kept bringing out armfuls of pants, DD’s face went from amused to shocked. The problem is: every single pair brings me joy. That means they’re keepers, right?
I have a minimalist house — the “sliding glass doors and two identical couches facing each other in the living room” look. I’m not a collector or a hoarder. I recently donated my entire DVD collection to a charity and got rid of most of my books. I had an empty nest garage sale last winter, that left me and DD so exhausted we couldn’t even talk.
I have admitted to a handbag situation in the past. And maybe I had a fling with scarves. All that’s over now. I’m against the tyranny of women walking around carrying suitcases disguised as handbags. I couldn’t bear to own another scarf.
My closet is arranged, KonMari style, like a boutique. I adhere to one new item in, one old out. My DD thinks my pants problem is because I only own maybe three dresses and three skirts. But still.
Every pair of black pants has a little twist that I’m fully engaged with and aware of. A black ponte jean. A black ponte legging. A black stretch corderoy. A grey/black velvet fuzz. Black linen cropped wide. Black slouchy handkerchief linen tapered. Black cotton harem. Black wide leg silk. Black velvet. Black stretch crepe. Black washable wool. Black leggings. Black sweatpants. A new pair coming this weekend: black cropped lightweight viscose (that I’m sure I’ll live in 24/7).
Blue jeans? Three: skinny, wide crop, boyfriend. That’s good, right?
Grey pants. Okay, maybe a bit of a grey problem too. Grey washable wool wide crop. Medium grey skinny jeans. Palest of pale grey skinny jeans. Pale grey cargo. Pale grey boyfriend jeans.
White pants. Three pairs of white linen. (You can only wear linen once in Tropica, before it goes into the wash, so I have to be ready with another pair, right?) One pair of white jeans.
Miscellaneous: Denim melange Tencel slouchy. Navy blue leggings. Brown stretch crepe.
Are you still with me? Time to analyze the situation. Why do I have so many pants?
- Deprivation shopping. I suffer greatly from this. I can’t shop in Tropica. Clothing of my style and lifestyle doesn’t exist here. So when traveling it’s “I better buy this because I may never see it again” or “I won’t find it when I need it.”
- Things go to shit fast in Tropica. The sun, the hard calcium water, the heat and the fact that you can only wear something once means you have to wash it all the time and washing at this rate fades and disintegrates clothes fast. Clothes suffers in Tropica. Pants grow on the hangar. Linen sags and wrinkles within the first five minutes. Perspiration blotches on your tummy, your back. White clothes yellows. Mosquito blood stains. (Attractive!) So I buy two white tees for when one dies, I’ll have the other one.
- The proper way to wardrobe in Tropica is: buy some clothes. Wear and wash for six months. Throw it all out and buy it again.
- Because of the heat and sweat, you might change clothes several times a day. You go through a lot of clothes in one week. I can change undies 4 times a day easily. Is this too much information? So, the justification of having enough…means having too much.
- My style is wrong for Tropica. I like to layer. So my eyes have a bigger appetite for fashion than is my reality. I’m buying for a lifestyle that I don’t have.
- I travel and I love seasons, fall winter and spring — and I have pants for those seasons because I can’t arrive to a place and start shopping because I don’t have the necessary warm clothing. So I buy it and it adds up here.
The Bottom Line: Like Steve Jobs with his black turtlenecks and Mark Zuckerberg with his hoodies, I dress in a uniform: mostly black pants. I must be a genius, like them!
I’ve made my peace with the pants tsunami. I tried every pair to make sure of the joy. Got rid of a few. And made the commitment to not buy another single pair for YEARS.
Now, as to my bathrobe collection. You know that I love bathrobes, right? Just kidding.
Sip those icy cold beers and read those great books. It’s summer!