Today I Got Up Early, and What I Learned from the Discard Pile
Today I woke up at 5:20 am and couldn’t fall back to sleep before the 6am alarm. I made a cup of tea and did what most “normal” people seem to do when they wake up: I scrolled through Instagram. My new phone is the super-duper one, and it’s huge, so I don’t go blind when I go online. But I honestly don’t understand what's so great about Instagram. How have I missed out on this massive cultural shift towards posting selfies as an alternative to communication? It feels a lot like the whole Facebook obsession I never got into. Although I’m pretty sure I logged in once in 2015 to acknowledge that my husband and I were, in fact, married. In 2013. You see where I’m coming from. But since deciding I want to start a blog (I know, like it’s 2006 or something), I thought that maybe a good way to get people to read it would be to post on Instagram. Hence the scrolling.
Now, I am still a beginner, following a few minimalists and fashion bloggers I found on Youtube, but I have yet to see the value in this forum. I know that a lot of effort goes into these photos, which I scarcely glance at for a second or two, at most. Am I just old? Well, yes, the answer is a resounding yes. But Will Smith is on there, and he’s older than me. But I digress.
I was saying that I woke up before 6am today and got my workout clothes on. Now, don’t be fooled. This has happened before, and no working out has commenced. But today was different. I laid in the dark for hours yesterday (I know, I should have been scrolling instead) trying to imagine what my ideal day would look like. It always involved waking up massively early and working out. Now, I made the mistake of relaying this to my husband, Matt, who suggested I make this dream a reality. I went to bed around 9:30pm last night, woke up early, had my tea, got dressed, and actually got on the treadmill to walk (crowd cheers). I felt smug as I showered— even a little sheepish. What depression? You just have to get up early and just do it! This explains so many Nike ads! This explains my father’s philosophy on everything!
I sat down to some Youtube and some more tea, and decided to wake up Matt. He was awake and scrolling when I came in. I snuggled under the covers and lost consciousness.
An hour later, my coffee was waiting by the bed in a travel mug. Oh, well! Just a little catnap! I only got eight hours last night, so that’s to be expected. I had breakfast and resumed my day. Matt showed me some template options on Squarespace for a half-hour or so. I ate lunch, washed the dishes, and watched more Youtube until Matt got back from the gym. When he returned, I started crying, saying “I’m ready to be all better. I’m so sick of this.” We went into the bedroom and I helped him fix a crossword puzzle. He rubbed my feet, got ready for work, and left. I fell asleep for two hours. Are you doing the math? 8 + 1 + 2 = 11. Yup. I’m up to 11 hours now, not feeling the Nike ad so much. These are the kind of shenanigans I must endure whenever I try to do something good, or proactive, etc. Now I’ve had more tea and have turned to a subject I have much more control over— my closet. Specifically, my discard pile.
I feel guilty looking at all of those t-shirts. I mean, technically, I could wear those Gap Factory ones some more, you know, until they had actual holes or whatever. And those LOFT swing tees are in perfect shape. I just, what, “don’t like them anymore?” Who am I, the Queen of England? Instead, I should keep them in my closet, not wear them for another year, and then get rid of them, like I do with dodgy cheeses. And this is where a capsule wardrobe becomes an act of defiance: an assertion of self-worth that shows confidence in one’s decisions. I will not wait for the cheese to mold. I will take life by the reins and purge! But let’s not be rash. There must be something we can learn from our past shopping mistakes. Here’s my list.
Don’t buy multiples (like, more than two) of anything that isn’t tried and true. With the Gap Factory T-shirts, I bought six of them all at once. I tried one out, washed it, gave it the green light, and kept them all. I see now that this was a mistake. I started buying multiples because I’d been burned before: I’d find that mythical perfect T-shirt or pair of pants, only realizing its value once it had gone out of stock, never to be reissued again. This created scarcity mentality in me- the idea that there will never be enough. And the truth is, there will always be more T-shirts- maybe even better than your current favorite. We must trust in the universe to bring us the clothes we need! (Okay, that went too far.)
Don’t buy anything without trying it on. OK, rookie mistake, I admit. But I thought those linen Gap joggers were the same as the twill ones I already had. And they’re the same size, and…and… Just don’t do it. They’re not the same and now you hate them.
Don’t buy anything you think you can fix via sewing. Unless you’re a master seamstress, this is a fantasy we have that allows us to purchase clothes that don’t fit. The LOFT Lou and Grey cotton camisoles have straps that fall down, no matter how many times I stitch and unstitch them.
High-low hems. Just don’t like them anymore. Something I once found profoundly “flattering” (translation: made me look thinner than I am) now deeply offends me. I think they look oddly childish, like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? -style weird. There are so many styles that I see on other people and think, “that looks great.” But then on me, they are creepy and infantilizing. Puff sleeves are the number-one offender, followed by babydoll dresses, peasant tops, and any kind of bows.
Well, that sums up my most recent fashion blunders. The most baffling for me is the last one, where something you love all of a sudden looks wrong. Maybe it’s just age or “maturity,” but all the cherubic fashions I was drawn to my whole life (mostly for figure-flattering purposes) have rather suddenly lost their charm. Nothing to be done, I suppose, except to pass them on and try to adjust my shopping habits accordingly. C’est la vie.