If you’re like me, every once in a while, your closet needs a little kick in the booty. And by “kick in the booty,” I mean “exhaustive cleaning because you never get rid of anything and probably don’t need that sweater you bought secondhand in 1991.”
I recently cleaned out my shoes. Now, keep in mind that I have worn the same size shoe since fifth grade. And, my mom and I wear the same size. And I figure everything comes back, right?
However, even I couldn’t deny the need to share the love. And by “love,” I mean “size 6.5 shoes that I probably bought at DSW because they were on clearance and loved briefly but haven’t worn in the four years I’ve worked from home.”
I had the best of intentions. I really did.
But I caught myself having these internal dialogues. Words and phrases that would sound ludicrous if spoken aloud, but that made perfect sense rolling around in my brain.
I should also mention that I did said shoe purge while wildly hormonal. I do not recommend this.
Here’s a sample of my thought process:
- I know the heels of these shoes have literally disintegrated into dust, but I was wearing them when I walked home from a fraternity party during a thundersnow that dumped 19 inches of snow on campus overnight in January 1995. My friend Soup and I stopped to eat snow in the Lambda Chi parking lot. I couldn’t possibly get rid of these shoes.
- Should I really get rid of the shoes I wore to the closing of my first house? Probably not.
- I wore those cork wedges on a date with Mr. I Want You To Want Me and I stepped on his foot. All things considered, I probably should have stomped on his foot. How could I get rid of such serviceable shoes?
- I wore those shoes with my first – and, to date, only – real, grown-up suit. Sure, I bought them in 1999 and the suit has long gone on to the women’s clothing version of a nice farm with plenty of room to run. But these shoes were so cool and everything comes back, even a square toed, high-heeled mary jane, right?
For what it’s worth, I kept the suede pumps my mom bought in 1990 because they are on the verge of being of a “yeah, that retro style is in, but I have the real deal” ilk. And, of course, there are the stalwarts that will never be purged – my penny loafers, the shoes my grandma wore to my parents wedding (what? they fit me, and I have her dress, too), and the several many black pumps because, well, black pumps never go out of style. Even though I never wear heels anymore. Because I have kind of given up on being fancy. And my feet hurt.
Maybe cleaning out my shoes while mega hormonal wasn’t the best choice. However, I was able to gift several pairs of shoes to a friend who literally squealed with delight. And I made more room in my closet for the comfort footwear that now seems to be my jam.
It all feels very, “To everything, there is a season.” Which makes me miss my leopard-print Danskos. Autumn? I eagerly await you!