So for whatever reason, I got the sudden urge to clean out my closet and get rid of all the stuff that I don’t wear anymore. Of course I wasn’t hoping to get any money out of it — I don’t wear those kinds of clothes. But I figured if I can prevent it from going to waste and maybe gain back some of my apartment real estate in the process, everybody wins.
Well today I had at it, and I’m left pissed at all the clothes I piled up. Sure, there were plenty of old t-shirts and shabby clothes that aren’t much good to anyone who isn’t desperate purely to keep warm. But there were also loads of perfectly good quality bowling shirts that I used to think were so stylish. See, back in the early and mid 2000’s, I was all into the clothes of Daddy-O’s. Girls love the dresses there, but I was all about the bowling shirts. I can’t knock the quality, because they really make good stuff. But these days, those things look less rockabilly to me and more… I don’t know… douchey Vegas? That’s not an across the board indictment, because certainly some guys can still pull it off. It looks more appropriate on older men, I’d say. Anyway, my point is that those things aren’t cheap, and so I’m looking at hundreds of my old consulting dollars down the drain.
I am not dumping any of my Hawaiian shirts though, because I have every intention of bringing back the Hawaiian shirt this summer. You have been warned.
In my digging, I was surprised to find my beloved and practically unused powder blue suede shoes, as well as my real saddle shoes back before you could buy them at Hot Topic. I came across (and kept) some sweaters and sweater shirts, several PeopleSoft shirts, a few holy skater shirts from middle school. I had forgotten I even had a t-shirt from Shotgun Willie’s strip club in Denver. (That’s a consultant story I’ll share in redacted form someday.) And horror of horrors, I even found some silk boxers! I had chosen to forget I ever used to wear silk boxers. And the last remaining proof goes in the garbage tonight.
In fairness, I did unearth some other unnameable corruptions in the back of my closet. I don’t know if the Dragonfly shirt company is still around, but they should be charged with crimes against humanity for some of the blasphemous garments they supplied to my wardrobe. Plus, was I like… a raverat one point? I have all these trippy millennium-era club shirts. Black and white swirly patterns and weird shimmery materials. Blanket apology to any woman who had to be seen with me in them. I almost hesitate to give them to Goodwill, as passing on these dark testaments to the lower bounds of fashion is surely no show of any “good will.”
Now you may be thinking to yourself, “where are the pics? I want to see these unspeakable things!” No, you don’t. Believe me. You think it will enrich your life, but you are mistaken.
So long black Nike swim trunks with the giant white “swoosh” across the butt. Goodbye hideous plush polo shirts I used to wear when I started consulting. Au revoir countless pairs of semi-worn black slacks that span my career from working in a pool store to last year. Sayonara black satin club/bowling shirt monstrosities. Adios polo shirts with a stripe across the chest that I used to sport every day in place of the t-shirts I wear now. Ciao endless piles of white t-shirts that I kept for who knows what reason. No, I didn’t have to get rid of you today, but you’ve been going to waste in my closet for the last decade. And the momentary fond memories of 1997-2005 that you brought back to me during this exercise is your final act.