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The Emotional Wardrobe Declutter
Updated: March 30, 2021 | Originally Published: May 30, 2015
As the season of spring cleaning rolls around, I find myself eagerly joining in on the tidying up. I love clearing out the garage—sending my kids’ old tricycles off to the donation pile, saying goodbye to the half-broken sled that has sat unused through too many winters, and finally parting with those hedge trimmers I’ve always been too afraid to use. I happily gather forgotten toys and stuffed animals from the basement, tossing old notes and cut-out articles from my desk drawers into the recycling bin. It’s a liberating experience, truly.
However, my closet tells a different tale. My walk-in closet—a feature that captivated me during our house tour years ago—resembles a chaotic costume shop filled with fashions from the 90s, 2000s, and beyond. It’s a bit of a time capsule, to say the least.
I’ve absorbed advice from countless magazines and organization experts who suggest that if I haven’t worn it in a year or if it doesn’t fit perfectly, it’s time to let it go. Part of me agrees, but another part—likely my heart—resists. Each piece of clothing represents a story, a memory, a connection I’m reluctant to sever.
Just the other day, I attempted to declutter and held up a heather gray wool suit by Ann Taylor, complete with an A-line skirt. I asked my husband if he thought I’d ever wear it again. With a smile, he quipped, “Are you planning to interview at an investment bank?” While it was clear I had no future occasions for that suit, I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. It was my first professional outfit, purchased while pursuing my MBA in 2001. I wore it to countless interviews, and it became a symbol of luck and confidence. Looking at it now, I’m reminded of the nervous excitement that accompanied those early career days.
These days, my freelance writing takes place mostly at home or the local coffee shop, where my go-to outfit consists of skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a soft long-sleeve tee. If I have a meeting, I might add a velvet or corduroy blazer. Perhaps that gray wool blazer will pair nicely with my jeans one day. I can’t let it go just yet.
I also faced a dilemma with a long purple silk skirt and a sleeveless pink cashmere sweater adorned with flowers, sitting atop my donation pile. This ensemble, gifted by my mother for my engagement party in 1999, holds a deep significance. Shopping for my wedding brought her joy amid her battle with cancer. Memories of her laughter while we picked it out flood back to me. I couldn’t bear to part with it; it symbolizes a cherished moment and the love shared between us.
I almost set aside a turquoise and hot pink mini dress by Lilly Pulitzer, a staple of my honeymoon wardrobe over 16 years ago. Surprisingly, it was my husband who encouraged me to keep it. That dress features in one of my favorite photos of us, taken as the sun set in a stunning array of colors. It captures a time of innocence and hope before the responsibilities of adulthood set in—definitely a keeper and maybe even a future hand-me-down for my daughter. After all, Lilly Pulitzer never truly goes out of style!
I often think about whether some of these beloved pieces will come back into fashion—another reason to hold onto them. My mother once lamented not keeping her mini-skirts from the 60s and bell-bottoms from later decades for when they returned to vogue. I can imagine myself prepared for any decade-themed party with my collection.
Ultimately, I’m okay with my emotional attachment to my clothes. They hold memories I’m not ready to part with—not just yet. For more insights on personal experiences and resources about home insemination, check out this link for additional guidance.
In summary, while decluttering can be liberating, emotional attachments to clothing can make it challenging to let go. Each item tells a story, and sometimes, those memories are worth holding onto.