If there is anything more depressing to a middle aged man than finally getting around to the cleaning out from his closet the accumulated detritus of 20-odd years sartorial selection, I do not wish to know of it. A soul-crushing quantity of things that 1) I can no longer wear, 2) wouldn’t wear on a bet or 3) all of the above drove home to me in repeated hammer blows that not only am I no longer the man I once was but that even when I was I didn’t make much of it.
The Goodwill Store, is all that’s left to salvage a shred of dignity.
Feh.
I can’t decided what is worst Lex is when you spend all day sorting your closet and right behind you your wife is putting the things that you want to keep in the Goodwill bag. That leads to questions a few months later of “Honey have you seen my shirt?”, then followed by either “No I have not.” or “Yes remember you gave it to Goodwill?” and you know that you put in in the save pile on the bed.
Or a week after dropping off your old clothes that meet requirements 1,2,3; there are kids from your neighborhood wearing those clothes since they have become cool again.
That’s why we do that clean-out about every 12-18 months. Spares us from the glaringly bad choices we made and also makes us feel a little better about the stuff we can’t fit into anymore. The changes are just a little less obvious in 12-18 months.
No pictures? Shame on you!
Just wait until you clean out the closet of your zoom bags and uniforms and replace with civilan garb.
Uniforms are easier!
Recalling the last time I cleaned out sartorially-expired outerwear, not being the man I once was turns out not to exactly be a Bad Thing(tm), if you get my drift.
Somewhat less for my kids to hold over my head, as it were, to boot.