Saturday, January 29, 2011

Confessions of a closeted clothes horse
(http://www.pioneerlocal.com/evanston/lifestyles/trend/3040024,trend-closetreal-012711-s1.article)
January 27, 2011
Coming out of the closet. 

It can be a huge and traumatic step, causing anguish for some but lifting a huge burden and bringing an unimaginable sense of relief for others.

Oh. Wait. You thought we were talking about THAT closet? 

No, what we have here is culling the clothes from that little space off the bedroom where one's wardrobe hangs. 

And, with the help of experts, that's precisely what I did. 

First things first. I'm not confessing to hoarding. Mine is not THAT kind of obsession. I keep clothes because I never know when the fashion fits the time or when it's time that I fit into the fashions. 

To that end, I'm no different than many of the women profiled on that little slice of wardrobe reality, "What Not to Wear." 

Maybe I'll fit into that unbelievably priced pair of suede pants again -- or perhaps they'll return to the fashion forefront. Why give away today what could potentially be worn tomorrow? 

Because I don't need it. 

Help wanted/needed 
 
I'm not at all like those profiled on "WNTW." I love to shop, I love the thrill of the hunt and my perfect afternoon includes a stack of fashion magazines. I clip fashion spreads like others clip Sunday coupons. I mark the sales in my datebook. 

I've reached the point where I can honestly admit I need professional help. 

Not Suze Orman's help. I know what she has to say on the matter. Rather, the assistance of those who have a keen eye toward which items I may actually need versus want, always a difficult distinction. 

That's where the stylists from newly launched Nick and Ellis swoop in. Like Darwins of the dresser, practitioners of natural style selection, they arrive on the scene and only the fittest -- and properly fitting -- survive. 

Lisa Schoch, owner of the Winnetka boutique Gray, and her team of two specialists, Debbie Katz and Jodi Henderson, have set up a closet rescue mission to save clotheshorses like me from themselves. 

They come to my home. We discuss my shopping habits, what I wear, what clothing is absolutely off limits and the social engagements I attend. 

Gloves come off 
 
The initial assessment goes easily enough: I own far more outfits for work than play. They provide a few tips to stave off the dressing equivalent of vanilla ice cream -- the Saturday night uniform of a black top with jeans -- and offer to cure my nautical-striped-shirt obsession. 

All this is done in the safety of my living room. Then they stop being polite and get real. They enter my closets. As in any good 12-step program, one needs to accept the power of those things that one cannot change. I surrender to my ways of clotheshorse-dom.
What needs to change is how I shop. I am told I need to focus on specific gaps in my wardrobe, purchase key pieces that stand the test of time and organize and actually tailor a carefully edited wardrobe. 

I've made all these resolutions before, but sometimes the girl math is overpowering. The cost-per-wearing ratio can be mere pennies -- when one actually commits to wearing the garment. But more often than not, I don't. 

So, back into the closet. 

Wardrobe warriors 
 
I run two loosely organized wardrobes: summer and winter. They reside in their respective closets, with crossover pieces next to the computer. (Don't ask) I have a set of drawers in the closet and a dresser. The shoes and handbags live in another room's closet and the front hall closet is the exclusive domain of my coats. 
"Mayhem," Schoch declares upon entry. 

"How do you even know what you have?" asks Katz. 

Turned loose in my closets, the three are Tasmanian devils with great shoes. I am peppered with 20 questions every 30 seconds. 

"Where do you wear this?" 

"When did you last put this on?"

"Where are your SHOES?" 

"Do you have a slip?" 

"What about your underpinnings?"

"You CANNOT buy another dress this year."

"Where are your party tops?" 

Filene debasement 
 
One minute I have a bedroom, the next minute it looks like the day after Filene's Basement bridal sale -- heaps of clothing castoffs and a shoe pyre take center stage.
But these women know shopping. They give permission to ditch each item that doesn't maximize my assets -- even if the item still has the tag attached. 

The dress that isn't perfect for a Sunday stroll? It's now a pool coverup. What about the polyester beaded tunic? Too hot for the beach, but hot enough with a Vince tank top and a pair of white jeans. After a trip to the tailor to hack off the bottom, this ensemble swaps places with the aforementioned not-perfect sundress. 

While the Nick and Ellis consultants praise my dress collection (yes, they did call it a "collection"), the gals are less than impressed with my lack of denim pants. Also on their radar? Saturday night. 

"You have tons of work clothes. More than what you need. What you need is something to wear on Saturday night. What do you wear now?" Katz asks. 

I feel empathy for those badly dressed, but hearts-in-the-right-place "WNTW" ladies. But there is no crying in fashion. I wear what most ladies wear: jeans and a black top.
 
Extra credit 
 
Schoch gently explains that I lack blouses. Not button-down banker blouses, but longer versions that can be worn with shorts or leggings. And a great pair of jeans and if I'm ready for the big time, Joe's jegging. 

Henderson ticks off short-range musts: slips and camisoles. She recommends Calvin Klein or Spanx. 

Katz eyes a pair of my much-loved black pumps. She starts to banish them to the pyre, but backs off when she sees my utter disappointment. 

All in all, it wasn't a bad way to spend a morning. I now have impeccably ordered closets, a prescription for items to scope and possibly incorporate, and a Zenlike calm when I open my closet doors. 

And I have homework: I need shelving for shoes, a new hamper and apparently the need to organize my unmentionables. 

While the homework doesn't specify applying my newly-trained eye to the Sak's Fifth Avenue clearance racks, I go for extra credit and test the trio's suggestions.
Immediately drawn to the ENTIRE SECTION of striped shirts, I find an intricately beaded number for Saturday night. And a navy blouse -- without buttons -- long enough to cover my rear. 

In any person's math: a complete success.