Reunion
I own a lot of clothes.
Really. A lot.
Imagine the amount of clothing that an ordinary person needs in order to stay reasonably well-dressed in all of the typical situations she may encounter over the course of the year. Now, double that. In fact, you may need to double it again. Admittedly, I require clothes for some situations that a normal girl doesn't ordinarily encounter. When the call goes out for a zombie/nurse/clown trapeze artist, I am there. I need a variety of zombie wear, blood-splattered girdles for MEAT, dirndls and showgirl costumes and schoolgirl outfits and that terrifying elf costume for Hubba Hubba Revue, a variety of corsets to wear clubbing, practice clothes for aerials (which include completely un-ironic leg warmers), performance clothes for aerials (which include fantastically expensive leather ankle corsets from Dark Garden), gowns for the opera, gowns for the Edwardian ball, and 1920's tea dresses for Gatsby. I need clothes to wear to work, suits in which I can look presentable, and dresses in which I can attend parties without looking like I am a refugee from Death Guild. I own three kimonos and two lounging robes. I have three trench coats: two leather and one velvet. I could not tell you how many black skirts or 1950's shirtwaists I own, but it is a very large number indeed. I have a problem.
And I'm not the only one. Once or twice a year, some brave soul mounts a call to arms and we all gather, poor costume-addicted creatures with bulging closets, for a clothing swap.
I could have packed more, but I diplomatically chose to limit myself to filling a trash bag and a suitcase with clothes that have fallen out of favor, or which never looked as good on me as I thought they did when I purchased them, things that I'd picked up at previous clothing swaps, clothes that needed hemming or taking in/out or a complete rebuild that I had never finished, and things that had been left at my house.
As clothing swaps go, it was a smashing success. My fellow aerialist inherited a number of my vintage dresses that did not suit me - baby blue is not my color. Dr. S passed large chunks of her six-years-age wardrobe on to A. Some girl I did not know ran off with my polka-dotted silk dress, in which she looked quite lovely. Dr. J found a red top which looked like many things she already owns, which makes it perfect. I inherited a number of black tops for much the same reasons. D found the sweater with the holes in the elbows that she left at my house during MEAT five years ago, which is good because I've been wondering who it belonged to for quite some time.
Halfway through the swap, A walked up to me with something green and gold and flesh-colored and said, "Here. I thought you might want this."
I held it up, this thing covered in gold spangles and old green rhinestones: the 1940's trapeze artist's costume I left at F's apartment the night that I broke up with him. There were more rhinestones missing than I remembered and there were places, many places, where it was coming apart at the seams, but it still fit, which was a pleasant surprise for something that I had bought when I was nineteen. I don't care that it will require all kinds of repair and that I cannot perform in it for fear that it will fall apart on the spot. I will re-stitch every inch of it if I have to. I will pull it apart and draft a new pattern from it. I will find new rhinestones and spangles and maybe a wider halter strap. It doesn't even matter that I cannot wear it anywhere. All that matters is that I thought I had lost it forever and now it is mine again.
Thank you, clothing swap. Thank you, A. Thank you, ex-boyfriend for not throwing this beautiful thing in the garbage, even if you did tell all of your friends that I hated them. Thank you thank you thank you. The Circle of Clothes is complete.
Really. A lot.
Imagine the amount of clothing that an ordinary person needs in order to stay reasonably well-dressed in all of the typical situations she may encounter over the course of the year. Now, double that. In fact, you may need to double it again. Admittedly, I require clothes for some situations that a normal girl doesn't ordinarily encounter. When the call goes out for a zombie/nurse/clown trapeze artist, I am there. I need a variety of zombie wear, blood-splattered girdles for MEAT, dirndls and showgirl costumes and schoolgirl outfits and that terrifying elf costume for Hubba Hubba Revue, a variety of corsets to wear clubbing, practice clothes for aerials (which include completely un-ironic leg warmers), performance clothes for aerials (which include fantastically expensive leather ankle corsets from Dark Garden), gowns for the opera, gowns for the Edwardian ball, and 1920's tea dresses for Gatsby. I need clothes to wear to work, suits in which I can look presentable, and dresses in which I can attend parties without looking like I am a refugee from Death Guild. I own three kimonos and two lounging robes. I have three trench coats: two leather and one velvet. I could not tell you how many black skirts or 1950's shirtwaists I own, but it is a very large number indeed. I have a problem.
And I'm not the only one. Once or twice a year, some brave soul mounts a call to arms and we all gather, poor costume-addicted creatures with bulging closets, for a clothing swap.
I could have packed more, but I diplomatically chose to limit myself to filling a trash bag and a suitcase with clothes that have fallen out of favor, or which never looked as good on me as I thought they did when I purchased them, things that I'd picked up at previous clothing swaps, clothes that needed hemming or taking in/out or a complete rebuild that I had never finished, and things that had been left at my house.
As clothing swaps go, it was a smashing success. My fellow aerialist inherited a number of my vintage dresses that did not suit me - baby blue is not my color. Dr. S passed large chunks of her six-years-age wardrobe on to A. Some girl I did not know ran off with my polka-dotted silk dress, in which she looked quite lovely. Dr. J found a red top which looked like many things she already owns, which makes it perfect. I inherited a number of black tops for much the same reasons. D found the sweater with the holes in the elbows that she left at my house during MEAT five years ago, which is good because I've been wondering who it belonged to for quite some time.
Halfway through the swap, A walked up to me with something green and gold and flesh-colored and said, "Here. I thought you might want this."
I held it up, this thing covered in gold spangles and old green rhinestones: the 1940's trapeze artist's costume I left at F's apartment the night that I broke up with him. There were more rhinestones missing than I remembered and there were places, many places, where it was coming apart at the seams, but it still fit, which was a pleasant surprise for something that I had bought when I was nineteen. I don't care that it will require all kinds of repair and that I cannot perform in it for fear that it will fall apart on the spot. I will re-stitch every inch of it if I have to. I will pull it apart and draft a new pattern from it. I will find new rhinestones and spangles and maybe a wider halter strap. It doesn't even matter that I cannot wear it anywhere. All that matters is that I thought I had lost it forever and now it is mine again.
Thank you, clothing swap. Thank you, A. Thank you, ex-boyfriend for not throwing this beautiful thing in the garbage, even if you did tell all of your friends that I hated them. Thank you thank you thank you. The Circle of Clothes is complete.