Closet Cleanouts and Mommy Issues

A few days ago I logged into Facebook and a memory harassed me with a street style photo of me in front of Bryant Park-era NYFW steps. I will not share this photo with you, but it involved sequin harem pants, knuckle duster heels, a purple 80’s jacket and a murderous stare and unstyled hair. It was one of the first seasons I’d ever been to, I was probably 16. I loved that outfit very much though I would never wear it now - I loved it because every part of it made me happy, even though the combination would have made it a suitable outfit for a circus entertainer. It was fun. It had personality. My favorite outfits always do.

I go through obsessive phases revolving around certain things, signatures, keepsakes - for half of high school and college it was milkmaid braids and cat-eye vintage frames, because I didn’t know any other way to style my hair, and these glasses were (and are still) simply cool. I still have them, though by now the prescription is outdated and the arms are bleached from use. They are an artifact of my style history - I might get rid of many things, but never those.

2012 Arabelle photographed by Laurence Philomene!

My mother donated most of her closet recently. For those who have grown up on the internet with me (many of you) you’ll perhaps remember the earliest Fashion Pirate outfits in front of my mother’s closet, where I borrowed some of her clothes and mixed them with thrifted pieces. I actually don’t know if any of the pieces I used to wear but never truly stole are left at home anymore - and for the past few days I’ve been wondering if I would miss them, and what that might mean. Writing right now - I think I’d miss a few pieces, but mostly I feel relief. My parents keep a cluttered home, so it is hard for me to really believe it’s all gone anyway. “Cleared out” could mean so much less change than you’d think. Still, I’m preoccupied by the mystery.