A Style (R)evolution - Part 1: More is Better, Right?

This weekend, I plan on paring down my closet.  Again.  As in, easily the third major reduction since we moved back to the States about 6 months ago.  And it got me thinking about my style evolution, because if the eyes are a mirror to a person's soul, a closet is a mirror to a person's style, no?

It wasn't too long ago that I was of the "more is better" variety when it came to clothes, bags and shoes.  I could blame the US consumerist-instant-gratification culture that convinces us to keep keepin' up with the Jones.  I could blame my shopaholic mother who has never passed a sales rack, a knick nack, or a multi-pack she didn't like.  (Hey that rhymes AND it's true!)  Or I could blame my pathological compulsion for matching sets of everything, in every color - which you can guess easily leads to mass accumulation.   Coulda, shoulda, woulda... Fact is, I ended up with a lot of stuff.  Stuff I spent a lot of money on, which I wore occasionally, and which more often than not, left me feeling with I-have-nothing-to-wear-itis.

When we lived in California, we redid the master closet for maximum storage using the Container Store Elfa System.  We bought matching wooden hangers at IKEA and clear plastic shoe boxes, and sorted everything by type and color into a veritable rainbow of wearables.  When guests came over and we gave them a tour of the house, my favorite reaction would come from this closet. All the women would oooh and aaah and all the husbands would grumble and try to pull them away before they got too many ideas of their own.  That reaction left me feeling, dare I admit it, a little proud.  Everybody loved my big beautiful closet!  Clearly my life choices had all been correct, since they led me to this proud moment of external validation (yes, there is some sarcasm in there.)

My closet in California: shoes, tops, jackets, skirts on one side.

Purses and accessories on a rack at the bottom.  Pants and long skirts on the left.

Central island storage for casual clothes.

(These photos don't even include the guest closet where I kept my dresses and seasonal coats. Ugh!)  I remember someone once asked how many tops or shoes or purses did I really own.  I had no idea, so I later went back and counted.  Somewhere upwards of 50 shoes, 75 skirts, well over 100 tops... on and on.  At the time, it didn't sound like more than one person could reasonably wear, it just sounded plentiful and splendid!  I loved clothes, and I spent a lot of time shopping for them, taking care of them, and figuring out how to wear them.  I generally left the house looking well put-together, and often got compliments on my matched ensembles.

What was not readily visible, however, was me, ironing until 2am on a Saturday night, to keep things neat and tidy and together.  Or me, standing in my underwear for 20 minutes near tears because I was late for a meeting but couldn't figure out what to wear.  Oops.

Still, I could have continued on this path had it not been for the fact that we moved to Europe.  We expected our new place in Europe would be small, that it may not have walk-in closets or (gasp!) any closets at all.  But being a short train ride from Paris would certainly make up for any of these incoveniences, so I was willing to make some sacrifices even when it came to clothes.

We put about half our things in storage, and that included my closet.  I had to pare down to just the "essentials."  That's when I found that I didn't have very many essentials at all.  Sure, I had about 8 pairs of black pants, but none that I would feel good about wearing reliably.  I had a pair for high heels, a pair for flats, ones I could wear on fat days, one for skinny days and high heels, one for evenings but only in spanx with that special sparkly top, a pair with the worn hems that I couldn't part with, and several bought on sale that looked cheap though unworn.  You get the drift.  They all went into storage, along with a lot of other stuff.  The high heels I couldn't walk in for more than a few minutes, the bags that matched just those one special pair of shoes or skirt, the stack of shorts I never wore but held on to just because I might wear them some day.

We knew we would be in Europe for a couple years or so, so it wasn't like I was saying goodbye forever.  It's not like the things would get out of date (I am a pretty classic dresser anyway).  They would just have a rest, while I would trot about Europe, and then we would be reunited in no time.  Looking back, this was probably the kindest way to break my bad habit, because I didn't feel any pang of guilt or loss as we closed up the last of the boxes.

Little did I know then that I was saying goodbye to those old clothes and my old way of shopping and dressing too...

Stay tuned for A Style (R)evolution -- Part 2: Blame it on the Purse