I don’t know if people know this about me… but I have a fashion addiction. I love clothes, jewelry, shoes, and handbags with a fiery passion. I acquire items like I have a fancy, rich person walk-in closet the size of a bedroom, complete with drawers, perfect lighting, and a sofa to sit and ponder my outfit choices. But that’s not reality. Not even close.
The problem is… my husband has a very similar fashion addiction. So we have to be rather creative with how and where we store our clothes. We have clothes in every closet of the house, three dressers, five basement wardrobes, and a mountain of plastic bins that we have to rotate seasonally. It’s a bit overwhelming, and probably ridiculous to most.
Today was the day of the semi-annual closet rotation. For several hours, my poor husband shlepped up and down the basement steps with a zillion storage bins, while I emptied them of our fall and winter clothes and refilled them with our spring and summer wardrobe. Honestly, I felt bad for the poor guy, sweating profusely for the sake of fashion. (I made him stop to have a Gatorade in the autumn air so he didn’t have a heart attack and die.)
I carefully organized everything according to sleeve length and color, knowing full well that in a month it will look like a disaster. I ran out of hangers… again. I filled several trash bags full of stuff to donate. I worked like a maniac for several hours and then sat down and rested, like Thanos after the snap, satisfied with my purging and organizing.
All I know is I have way more clothing and accessories than the average bear. Marie Kondo would hate me. People probably think I have a problem. I probably do. Will it stop me? Not at all. Fashion brings me joy, dammit.
Forty Fat and Fabulous 