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Addicted: Moving Day Edition

Actual box label.

My posts are typically about all of the things that I’m recklessly spending money on, so consider this “opposite day.” I moved out of my apartment over the weekend (which was terrible by the way; I carried a queen size mattress down three flights of stairs with no assistance) and had to get rid of a few things—perhaps more things than I would have cared to part with.

Throwing things away causes me extreme discomfort. I’m such a nostalgic person, you see. You can get a really big “Awwwww, remember that time?” out of me from a mere ticket stub. I begged my super-organized best friend Julia to help me get rid of some stuff. “I would help you, but you’ll want to save the dirt on the floor, old pennies and every safety pin,” she tellingly replied.

In possession of some hoarder-like tendencies, I was determined to let go of a few things. What type of non-horseback rider really needs ten pairs of Ariat riding pants in every color? And those multiple velour jumpsuits dating back to what I consider to be the worst period in fashion’s history…it felt good to them in the giveaway pile. (An homage to J. Lo circa 2002 that shall never be.)

These are real numbers: 39 plain wife-beaters; 27 plain white t-shirts. And the box that my socks went into was seriously, refrigerator-size. I could probably go 6 months without doing laundry and still have clean socks. Oddly enough, there are very few matching pairs, but the color selection is spectacular (a special thanks to Welovecolors.com)! Oh, and by the way, I could definitely host my own APC warehouse sale.

At least if my friends pull some sort of hoarder intervention, you won’t find any dead cats anywhere. Just a pair of Cat print Miu Miu heels.

There are some things I’m holding on to, hoarder label be damned. I folded what must have been 400 vintage t-shirts and decided to part with a total of zero of them. Fine. I found a few things that I had been frantically searching for: I’m happy to report that I’m reunited with a pair of chocolate brown mid-calf Lanvin boots with a croc heel. Losing them made my stomach turn; somehow they were pushed to the back of the closet along with my Denver Nugget Nike Dunks. They’re a little dusty, but they’re going to make it.

I also realized that, despite owning so much, there are still basics which I do not possess, including a pair of black heeled No.6 clog boots. WHAT? How is that even possible? What was I planning to wear on my feet all winter? I mean…I have them in brown but not in BLACK. SO WEIRD. As a reward/pat on the back for letting go of several items that have been with me for decades, I simply had to treat myself. And I deserved it this time. Yep.

In the end, I really didn’t end up letting go of all that much. Seven wardrobe boxes later (no joke), Juan the mover confessed that in all of his years he had never seen someone with so many clothes, “So this is your sport,” he said.

I’m an Olympian, Juan.

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