The Urge to Purge (This is NOT About Bulimia)


I’ve been driving myself mad the past few years-ok, decades-to become willing to whittle down my wardrobe to just the basics with a few WOW pieces thrown in for good measure. It’s like yoyo dieting, only with clothes instead of food.  I’ve stopped dieting from my supposed “bad food” list this year and it’s felt great (most of the time).  But my failed attempts at putting the kibosh on my fashion addiction are catching up with my conscience.  To be blunt, I feel like the consummate consumerist.  I find the joy in purchasing things transformative and calming, though momentary at best. 



I will, 99% of the time, walk into a store for a specific item, not find it, silently say to myself, “I’m already here. I may as well have a look around,” and purchase something(s) else completely unrelated. I basically get high off of acquiring new things and believe I’ve somehow improved my life.  And that, my friends, is a lie. 




The reason that I struggle is I go back and forth between the ideas that I’m a creative who sees fashion as wearable art, and the overwhelm I feel at trying to easily find something to wear on a daily basis.  On the one hand, I love the diversity of my closet and all the fun looks I can create.  Plus it’s a political choice for me to wear things that challenge people’s ideas about what fat people should or shouldn’t wear.  But on the other hand,  I tend to wear the same tried and true items over and over.  They are my favorites, which not only look good, but feel really good too.  The extra clothes get tried on when I’m playing dress up (which happens a few times a week at least), and then I discover that something just doesn’t fit as I remembered, or it simply doesn’t go with anything else.  Or worse yet, I already have something exactly like it.  I mean, how many black crochet peasant tops does a gal need?

Having a closet full of stuff is hard to keep up with.  And my closet is actually an entire room, with a closet of its own-which is also filled to capacity.  Zoinks! My husband is in awe, or maybe it’s disgust, at the amount of shit I have.  I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not just a drain on my pocketbook, but on my psyche as well. What’s a gal to do?

Shot of my closet.  This is just one small section.


Do I buckle down, find some willpower and purge like crazy? Or do I accept the fact that I LOVE clothes and this is just a part of who I am?

Perhaps this is a plea for advice from my readers.  I invite you to share your experiences with me so that I might have a chance at finding peace.  Yes, I’m asking for help.  So bring it on ya’ll.

Ciao for Niao,
Pia

P.S. I have a gift card to Zappos that I’m dying to use.  Fuck.  This is not going well.  Or is it?