I was inspired to write this post because I *didn't* buy a jacket.
Back story - I have fifteen thousand jackets at home. Probably. I haven't counted, but I know that when I open up our "coat closet" (also doubles as our laundry/shoe/vacuum/Swiffer closet) most of the coats that I see in there are mine. Maybe three of them are Kyle's. And one of those I bought for him.
This post could have just as easily been titled "Confessions of a Shopaholic" or "How to be a Crazy Coat Lady" - but honestly, that's a little embarrassing and - based solely on my experience today - I am clearly turning a corner outside of my consumerism mindset.
Exhibit A: I did not buy a jacket. I *almost* did. But then, I didn't! Yay! (Isn't this a great story so far?)
When I hear the term “capsule wardrobe”, I immediately think of it as a “time capsule” wardrobe. Not in a weird way – I don’t imagine putting all of my clothes into a box and digging it up in fifty years. But there’s something about the idea of a “capsule” that makes it feel timeless. Like Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly. Not so much ‘the trends’ - just a classic, elegant style.
I’ll tell you that’s what I strive for – a ‘timeless, classic’ look – but what I’m not telling you is that I’ve been on a mad hunt over the past three weeks for one of those winter beanies with the fur pom. Or as I’ve been calling them “you know those hats with the fuzzy ball? Yea, I want one of those.” I don’t know if that look falls under “timeless” or “classic”, but I LIKE IT. Even though I'll be looking back at pictures with my grandchildren in fifty years and they will ask, “Why does your hat have a fuzzy ball hanging from it?”, and I’ll be like, “I don’t know. That was the style back then.” *Shrugs*
For the record, I couldn’t find one. The department stores swept those winter hats clean in January when they made room for their Spring collections. So, I’ll just have to stick with my regular, old, BORING, non-fuzzy-ball winter apparel until next year.
My parents sent me a stun gun as part of a care package in college.
I figured I should open with that, so that when I say, “I found my stun gun in a shoe box in the back of my closet over the weekend” – ya’ll don’t think I’m the kind of girl who:
A) knows where to buy a stun gun, and -
B) keeps it in a shoe box in the back of her closet. Nestled next to a scarf and a pair of high heels.
Because that’s where it was. Who knows why. Who packed that box when I was moving?
Me. I packed it. I packed all of my boxes. And when I ran across that stun gun, I was probably like, “Well, I don’t have a box marked ‘Weapons’ …. sooo let’s just put it in this shoe box. That should be fine.”
That makes about as much sense me having a stun gun in the first place...
I'm searching for a new purse, "for winter". A black chainlink cross-body purse, to be exact. I don't know what winter has to do with it - but I saw some girl in a movie wearing a grey peacoat with a black chainlink cross-body purse and big sunglasses, and I was like "That's it! THAT'S what I want to look like this winter!"
I don't know where this comes from. I don't know why I see a random stranger in a made-for-tv movie and think that I have to change up my entire look for a season. It just happens. It happened with Peyton Sawyer on One Tree Hill when I suddenly decided I needed a leather jacket. It happened with Serena Van Der Woodsen on Gossip Girl when I decided that my "new style" should be "boho chic New Yorker-y". It's even happened with YouTubers. After watching two hours of Carly Cristman videos, I committed to only wearing neutral colors for a year. A WHOLE YEAR.
My entire wardrobe has been decided by fictional characters and people that I've never met in real life. That's probably normal, right?
Ugh. "Purge". It's one of those words like "moist" or... "moist". It's not the way it sounds, it's just - you know, what it is. Purging stuff. I feel like I'm writing about my closet throwing up remnants of old college t-shirts and Target Mossimo tags.
I've always thought the idea of "cleaning out my closet" sounded like a terrible idea. Like this monumental chore. Because it basically felt like opening up the door to my own personal landfill of Victoria's Secret shopping bags (that I, for some reason, struggle to throw away) and shoes. So many shoes. WHY do I have so many shoes? I have two feet. I do not need twenty pairs of shoes.
But, you know, some day, "I might wear them" - or so I tell myself.
I have clothes in there too. Some clothes. Not all of my clothes. A lot of them used to end up in piles on the floor. Because they wouldn't fit in my closet. And the floor seemed like as good a place as any to keep them - you know, because I could see them. No sense opening up the pesky old closet and reminding myself what a mess it is in there.
And then I moved in with my boyfriend. Who is not like the boys you met in college with McDonalds bags stashed under their beds and dirty clothes spilling out of the hamper (thank God) - he's, like, an adult. He's sanitary. And while I know he loves me, I figured it wouldn't take long before he would get frustrated with me using my side of the closet as a landfill for VS bags and the bedroom floor to layout my clothes. All of my clothes. You know, so I can see them. Because you can't do THAT when they're in the closet. Too many other clothes in the way. Some shirt you love might be squeezed between two shirts you hate - and then you'll miss it. And then you'll be sad.
Is "debunked" the right word? I don't know. I used to think that I looooved vintage fashion. The idea of a string of pearls sitting around in a jewelry box that's been passed down since the Titanic? Maybe it belonged to Rose De... Dewitt? Google says "Dewitt-Bukater", but I'm just going to call her Rose Dawson because we all know she should have scooted over and let Jack climb up on top of that door with her. He didn't have to freeze to death. It's not always all about you, Rose, people are dying.
But the pearls. Let's get back to the pearls. Did she have pearls? Oh, wait - no, she had that gaudy necklace that she chucked it into the ocean at the end of the movie. Way to be a hero, Rose. People have been looking for that.
But when you say something is "vintage" - that's what people imagine. That's why they say "ooh... ahh...", because they're envisioning something that somebody wore back in the day. It's a romantic idea that something has been around longer than, you know, a Forever 21 t-shirt that you ripped and threw away after one wash. It tells a story. It's been around the block. It's seen some stuff.
When I was in high school, one of the girls came to school one day wearing dangly paperclip earrings. Like, dangly earrings, made of paperclips. Tiny paperclips clasped together dangling from her ears. And when everyone said, "Oh! Those are... different!" - she told us that she found them in her grandmother's jewelry box and that they were "vintage".
Vintage paper clip earrings. From Grandma's jewelry box. Like Grandma was a true fashion pioneer back in the 40s who just strung a bunch of paper clips together and then said, "Yea, I'm gonna keep these. Let me just put these in the jewelry box next to my pearls."
Did they even have paper clips back in the 40s? When did they start making paper clips? Were people even writing on paper back then, or was it all parchment and quill pens?
Okay, I guess it's the 1940s, not the 1800s. You shouldn't come here expecting a history lesson. We're here to talk about clothes and stuff.
So, I went shopping today. And I walked into this little store called The Buckle. Or is it just Buckle? I don't know - but you know which store I'm talking about, right? It's supposed to be this very boho-trendy/Coachella fashion/"I paid way too much for this t-shirt" kind of vibe-y store. (I know, because I've paid way too much for a t-shirt here before. )
But I was in the mall, I'd had my Starbucks, and I was feeling pretty good. (Plus I've been saying for the last, like, week and a half that "I reaaaaally want some new clothes for summer". There is no reasonable explanation for this. It's not like the only thing I have in my closet are clothes made of wool and fur and winter-y things.. But apparently all of the t-shirts and shorts that I have in my closet from last year are, like, sooo 2016.)
I know. I'm the worst. Some people collect dolls, some people eat trash, my addiction is that I buy a lot of clothes. We all have our things.