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That old black garbage bag...

I don't know about you, but it is impossible for me to give old clothing away. Scratch that: It is impossible for me to give old t-shirts away.


For awhile now, it's been brought to my attention that I have an unhealthy attachment to my past and everything related to it. Whether it is obsessing about a year where things were going perfectly (Sophomore year of college, 2000-2001) or of great moments in my dating history (The Cake concert t-shirt I bought for Amber that convinced her to go out with me), I am incapable of pitching it to the Goodwill curb. Why? I'm a revisionist and anything that seems to reinforce an altered view of my personal history is an ally that I can't seem to discard.


In theory, I should be cleaning out my wardrobe every five years, pitching whatever I haven't been wearing frequently or with love. The flip is that I would hate to lose something of such sentimental value as a t-shirt that seems to immediately resonate a period of happiness. So I simply set the shirt aside in a box and slide that box into the back of the closet to be opened again the next time I attempt to slim down my ample t-shirt collection. Maybe after a few years of this, I'll be mature enough to start discarding the jaded mess of nostalgia that I have chosen to hang in my memory.

Or I'll finally meet that "one superhero icon shirt for every day of the month" goal I set back when I was in college. Whichever.

posted by AmeroKafka @ 1:54 PM