What Not to Wear

Now that we have gone to the dark side and purchased DirectTV, I actually have "shows" that I "watch" on a routine basis. I'm not ashamed to say that TLC's "What Not to Wear" is one of them, but I know I have fellow followers out there with me, secretly laughing at someone else's obvious fashion miss-steps. After putting Mason to sleep last night, I, as usual, took ownership of the controller and, as usual, veered away from a Stanley Cup playoff game to an episode of WNTW that happened to be on and, subsequently, forced Michael to watch it. At the beginning of the show they pilfer through the guilty party's wardrobe and pick out all the vile things they own and discuss why said clothes should instead be in the trash. Michael chimes in more than a few times - "You have something like that right - that should crawl into a cave and die of fashion-less misery?" "What my yoga pants, t-shirts, and boxer shorts from 10 years ago that I have worn holes through from wearing so much, yet continue to don because "they're just my night clothes"?" I scoff and opt for "Ocean's Eleven" instead.
Today after returning from a successful jaunt to my secret fashion mecca (ok, ok, the J Crew clearance store, but I won't tell where it is) having bought a nice pair of cropped chinos at their monthly sidewalk sale for $10, Michael swiftly and decidedly announced HE would go through my clothes and save me from myself. I found this to be an entertaining foray and let him do as he wished, but I had to promise not to resist. "You're 30, you know, you need to look it." Imagining that it might be for the better good - for Mason's future free of other kids taunts that his mom doesn't know how to dress or looks whore-ish - I relinquished control of my closet.
We sat on our bed with Mason on the floor chasing Zola back and forth and "catching" her by what looks like a sweet, baby-style wrestle and we started digging. Out came the piles of t-shirts, tank tops, long sleeve shirts, dress shirts, shorts, brooke dresses, sweaters, pants, jeans, dresses, scarves, underwear and, yes, even a muumuu. Out went the shirts with holes in the armpits, and too-tight jeans that said "teenager" and not "mother". Gone were the hot pink North Face hiking shorts and pink and grey striped 3/4 sleeve boat neck shirt that I love, but again involved pink. Goodbye off-white short-sleeved turtleneck sweater and black velour mock turtleneck shirt (great for the holidays!). Goodbye brown velvet jacket with sleeves about 4 inches too short (I made it work!) and brown velvet evening gown that I bought in a Chapel Hill consignment store for $80, which I vividly remember as a purchase I was extremely proud of (I've worn it twice in 10 years).
The plaid flannel boxer shorts (bought 10+ years ago because they screamed collegiate) and snap shirt (bought with intent to wear on my wedding day while my hair was getting done) were quickly and unceremoniously kicked to the curb (having been threatened many times before), but I saved them claiming we can tear them up and use them for rags. Michael said "no" to the sarong that I bought in Malaysia and wore all summer after giving birth, but allowed me to keep the one I made myself, along with the muumuu that belonged to my Grandma and was actually worn in Hawaii (true story!).
Along the way he imparted various "rules" that I have to, from now on, live by when buying and/or keeping clothes. Anything with holes or nude-colored gets nixed. Anything in the "right" shades of green, blue, or pink (but NOT purple) is acceptable. Jeans should be age-appropriate. Nothing ratty is acceptable. It's not that my closet was full of fashion felonies, but just that I hang on to things WAY too long. Michael is right, I'm not a teenager anymore, I don't need to embrace the "vintage" look. It's time to look put together, like I actually care about how I look when I leave the house, or when I'm in the house for that matter.
All in all we filled two 45-gallon trash bags with all bad things that were hiding in my closet. Purging feels good sometimes, but now I look at my skeleton wardrobe and and think "I have nothing to wear!"