Young Professionals of Portland

I have emotional attachments to the piles of random crap in my house. No emotional connections are stronger or more disturbing than the ones I have with my clothes. Piles and piles of memories choke every inch of bedroom floorspace. The closets replete with apparel that has not seen the light of day in years.

I supplemented my closet with 2 full sized garment racks a few years ago, as if I could solve my hoarding problem with proper storage. It did get several of the piles of clothes off of the floor, but it wasn't long before new clothes took their place.

I knew I had to purge my wardrobe. I've known it for years. I've avoided it for so long.

The miniskirts that comprised most of my wardrobe for the bulk of my 20s are inappropriate for a Portland dwelling 31 year old. Same goes for sparkly camisoles and sundresses with spaghetti straps. If you can only wear an item of clothing for 3 months a year, but shouldn't have been wearing for it the last 7 years anyway, it's time to put in a bag and put said bag on the curb.

But, I looked soooo cute in that polka dot mini, and I scored so hard when I would wear that gold sequined tank, and that denim mini dress was my go-to outfit for-evah. I let go of several miniskirts and sequined cami's a few years ago, after my first full year in Portland and Oh My God, it was as painful as childbirth (probably).

Miniskirt girl has to grow up sometime and miniskirt woman does not sound charming or sexy.

I turned 30 one year ago next week. So I've had an entire year to live in total age-denial. I rode this last summer out in ridiculously "hot" pants, (denim underwear with pockets is more like it) and the bitter end of my vast miniskirt collection. I knew that this was the last summer I could get away with such fashion shenanigans.

So now, as I look at 2 bags full of cute, girly clothes, and one bag full of stilettos so high they double as torture devices, I am confident that in 31 years, i have finally learned how not to look like a total skank.