Abandon hope, all ye who enter here should really be written above my closet right now.
- I’ve always hated uniforms. I wouldn’t even wear a tunic + leggings, back when that was new, because it felt so common and uniform-y. I’m a dyed in the wool social contrarian, never able to leave things be, and never able to agree with the common opinion. So lately, the “uniform” of my place of employment (in truth just a particular series of pieces and stylistic choices), feels like shackles.
- I’ve been buying carefully, lately. Just 2-3 pieces a month, and only things that meet my standards of perfect*. Seeing those pieces waving about in my closet - unworn, and with tags still on - is just beyond demoralizing. If my work place were different, I could wear them. Instead, I spend 8+ hours a day in work clothes, and the rest in work (as in, do renovation work on the house) clothes.
- Reading a closet is the fashion version of reading tea leaves. The meaning in my closet is clear: I’m not having enough fun, and I really need a new job.
*perfect: adj. On-trend but timeless, with a fit that is uniquely flattering to my figure, and in colors that suit my skin tone. Finding something perfect sounds simple but it is not.
