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April: Closet Issues

Basically there are two things that define blogging: it’s mostly about an individual. Which I think can get a bit narcissistic, something I have difficulties with. And a blog has to have regular entry of commentary. Which I think demands some discipline. Again… something I have difficulties with. This bright and clear insight (having difficulties with discipline and narcissism) has hit me before. And it hit me again last Sunday. It was almost the end of the afternoon and I was watching something boring -what might have been the Grammy Awards- when my thoughts went to my lovely Digi’s. And the fact that I have been so busy and distracted that it has been a while since I wrote about my very own not-always-that-exciting-and-always-not-that-disciplined life.

While pushing the most interesting gossip and other fashion focused stuff that I could possibly think of out of my head and onto my laptop screen, my mind went to another fashion focused and messy subject: my closet. And that- to come up with that one great Digi subject- it might be a good idea to start cleaning it up. It stroke me. That I could think such a thing. So I decided to do something with these so not like-me thoughts. I strolled towards my hallway (I live in the centre of Amsterdam, the biggest place for my sort of walk-in-closet is a Carrie-esque walk through hallway) were my closet opened as my very own temple of doom.

Like an army, colonies of mites pushed down rows of clothes. I was, like they say, a fashion victim. There, somewhere between all those garments, my past was taking a rest. I picked up an old SuperGirl T-shirt (you remember them, the ones with the Superman logo in pink). I didn’t recognize it at first, but than a flashback of camping disco’s and a summer of Terschelling-love came to me. Scared I threw it away.

Where to start? Melancholy was staring me in the eyes so I decided to follow my guts. But it went wrong with the first skirt. Didn’t I spill my first champaign on that during the summer of 1999? A bit further on, a strapless stick-on-bra… It might come handy. T-shirts. Piles of T-shirts with strange pictures that I can’t even describe. Socks I borrowed once at a party because my feet were cold. A fleece-something from at least 2 decades ago. (where did that come from? I seriously never owned something fleece. Cross my heart). Did I mention it was Fluo?

My whole life went by as a movie. And I wasn’t even dead. Without thinking I hung everything back. I only threw away the socks. From some things you simply have to take a distance.

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