I was chatting with a friend the other day, who made a comment about how clearly I care a lot about fashion and what I wear. During said conversation, I was wearing jeans, a t shirt, a hoody, black cons and glasses. “Not really,” I insisted. “I’m just lazy. It’s easier to pull on a dress then try and find pants and a shirt that matches, is clean, needs ironing.”
Before I moved (cause my life the past few weeks leading up to now has been a dizzying, anxiety-ridden blur of packing, moving, working, caring for Clara, being amicable and trying to still run or do yoga when I can squeeze it in), I took a few of my dresses to get dry cleaned and picked them up after I had keys to the new place. Hung them up in my new closet so after the long weekend, when all my clothes were still in various boxes, I could just tear off the plastic, throw a dress on, add shoes and head to work.
One of the smartest things I’ve ever done, except when it came time to decide what to drop off for cleaning. And, decided, on a whim, to try stuff on before I paid to have it cleaned.
Because I’ve only lost 30lbs.
Most of my clothes? They don’t fit. Which is a VERY good problem to have. Except I don’t have a surplus of cash to use on new clothes (because did you know? Moving is freaking expensive. First and last months rent. Utility hookups. Wireless modems. Security systems that dispatch the police AND an ambulance to your house on a sunny September morning and then a very nice officer gets you on the phone asking if they should break down your door. Last minute emergency appointments with your therapist who you haven’t seen in years but really needed to see because yeah, anxiety and panic attacks SUCK).
I told a girlfriend about my dilemma the other day – she’s my height and trying to get down to the weight I currently am. She’s got an incredible wardrobe, so I suggested to her that maybe if she had anything that was now too small for her, that maybe I could take it off her hands, temporarily of course.
A day later, I walked into my office to find a travel bag with two weeks worth of business clothes waiting for me.
(I get by with a little help from my friends).
Her clothes have been hanging in my new closet for a week, while I’ve lived out of boxes and worn the same jeans over and over. (Note to self: Buy jeans).
And then yesterday, satisfied that the main floor was in a livable state, I decided to tackle assembling my dresser. So I could (finally) unpack clothes.
And yeah. A visit to the Apple Factory with Clara so she could show nanny the animals, a play date, dropping Clara off at her Dad’s (I cried), two lengthy phone calls with my security company and then a trip downtown to deliver my mother to my sister’s, and I still didn’t have a dresser.
This morning, still not knowing where most of my clothes were, I opened up the travel bag from my girlfriend and dressed myself.
(Thank GOD for friends).
Slipped into a size 8 skirt, and heard that oh-so-satisfying sounds of it sliding up easily. Added one of her tops and some shoes and I was dressed.
This is what I’m wearing today, amidst the boxes and the chaos. This is what I’m wearing, 30lbs lighter. This is what I’m wearing, a day before I turn a year older. This is what I’m wearing as I start a new chapter.
This is what I’m wearing. I’m ready.