As I stare into my closet I wonder, do I really need all these clothes?
I keep buying clothes and keep stacking them up in my closet. My closet is becoming so full I can’t even close the door of it anymore. Normal people seem to sort out their wardrobe, divide them for every season and try to keep their wardrobe as neat as possible. I don’t.
I fold every item and push them with force in my closet. It’s like a garbage dump, but instead of actual garbage it’s filled with clothes. I can’t find any piece of garment that I want to wear so I keep recycling the same outfits every damn day. My roommate keeps telling me to throw away the stuff that I don’t wear anymore. I pull a random shirt out of my closet with a picture of a cat chasing a dog on it. I yelled at her “Are you crazy?! What if I decide to wear this someday?!” She looks at me with a surprised face. “When are you ever going to wear that shirt? When you decide to travel back to 1998?”.
I hate to admit it, but she is right. I need to clean out my closet and make some room for the new collections that are coming. I pull out every single piece of clothing out my closet and place them all on my couch. When I look at the huge pile on my now non-visible couch I sigh. Where to start?
I decide to divide all my clothes in three stacks. A stack for the items that I want to keep, one for the items that I have to think about and the other stack for the clothes that I want to throw away. After a while I notice that the ‘throw away stack’ has no clothes at all. As I look down to the whole content of my closet I start to wonder what’s wrong with me. Am I in some twisted way a clothes hoarder? Every piece of clothing that lies in front of me has some history and I can’t seem to part with them. When I look at a shirt that I wore when I had my first date with my ex seven years ago I start to worry. This is sick. I am sick.
I already saw myself checking in at some kind of fashion-rehab where I had to discuss my hoarder addiction with other people who can’t seem to part with their clothes. I poured myself a glass of wine and with pain in my heart I started throwing away my most ugly and old pieces of clothing.
I seemed to get calmer the more I threw away. I thought to myself that this is how therapy must feel like. I ended my ‘session’ with two garbage bags filled with memories that I placed outside my house next to the garbage.
After a few hours I thought it was time to treat myself to some tasty snacks. In the line of the supermarket I started daydreaming about spending my next salary on new clothes. When I looked to my left I saw this guy wearing my old hoodie that I just threw away. I felt relief. It was good to know that my crap is someone else’s treasure… Is this what charity feels like?