I’m going to be honest and admit that I have quite an alright wardrobe. Something I’ve noticed in the past few weeks, however, is that everything I have is virtually destroyed. I don’t know what my problemo is, but it seems that I may be a toddler, and this is why I can’t have nice things.
Take for instance my white Max Studio blazer. This is a hand-me-down from Mama Morrow. It’s generally pretty fly, but the other day I noticed that it is covered in what is most certainly soot. I don’t know how this might’ve happened (perhaps those few weeks in 2009 I spent as a chimney sweep), but in any case, it’s disappointingly filthy. I took it to the dry cleaner at some point last year, but clearly the damage had been done, and there was no turning back.
I also have a beloved Kenneth Cole long denim jacket that I got from an art gallery in Colorado when I was 16. This jacket has been through its
fare share of ups and downs, and I only have one original button left. I lost most of the formerly 8 buttons when I pressed my confused American body up against a brick wall in Perugia, Italy in avoidance of a freewheeling bus during my semester abroad. Don’t worry, everyone was ok, but my jacket buttons were tragically never seen again. (In an attempt at coolness, I found random buttons—dismembered from other clothing items—and sewed them on to the jacket.)
Then there is the issue of the dreaded pit stain. God help me if I want to go for the classic “jeans and a white top” look. If my white shirts aren’t covered in spaghetti sauce stains, the armpits are tinted a rather gnarly color. I don’t know what I’m doing while wearing a white button-down or flouncy top, but apparently it is similar to the strenuous work of a plumber or summertime-outdoor-window-washer. Really, I should consult my
physician in regards to this condition. I’m sorry I even brought it up.
And of course, there are the pants and tights that have simply split or torn. These are always fun. Nothing says “cry, Fatty” like putting on a pair of skinny jeans and watching the seams break away in vengeance. Sometimes I’ll put on a silky pair of tights that go just perfectly with my dress, only to watch a run slide all the way down my calf. “Son of a…
Right now it looks like I’ve got two choices:
- Buy a completely new wardrobe, or
- Pull myself together and behave like an adult.
I’m not Kelly Rowland. I can’t just go out and buy fancy new clothes whenever I please. I think I’ll just have to take my time, drink my coffee and eat my chocolate chip banana muffin with a little more patience, and hope for the best.