One of the inexplicable things in life is the abyss of the bedroom closet. On par with the perennial missing sock in the dryer, the bowels of a clothing closet rank with Pandora’s box for sheer mystification of clothing that is MIA.
At college, my daughter’s closet literally is bursting at the seams with hangers bearing skirts, dresses, blouses, and jeans. Stacked clear plastic bins store the overflow of hoodies, sweatshirts, sweaters, leggings, lingerie, pajamas, assorted tee-shirts – long and short-sleeved, socks, and various accessories. Over the closet door hangs a shoe organizer filled so that there is waiting room only for the boots [tall, short, leather, and suede] that are lined up underneath the shoe holder. At least the two exotic guppies in their pristine clean fish tank have much to look at as they gaze into the closet and at its opened door.
Comparing my child’s closet to my own when I was in college, I remind myself that cheap imported clothes were not the norm in the 1970’s. Furthermore, I recall that I while I purchased jeans, I made most of my skirts, dresses, and tops. Sewing, I surmised, has become a lost art among the youth of today. By the time one shops for a pattern, selects the fabric, purchases the requisite thread, buttons and/or zipper, J Crew or Gap has a comparable top on sale for what I would now pay to sew my open clothing. Meanwhile, we amass piles of clothing we likely do not actually need, yet purchase because of inexpensive imported clothing. I do a double take when I seize upon a garment that has a Made I the U.S. A.label; it is akin to viewing an exotic animal.
In the meantime, my daughter happily rifles through her myriad of clothing in her tiny, but well-ordered closet. With an air of je né sais quoi, she emerges from her room, robed in clothing that mirrors her attitude with a touch of panache. She is blithely ready to take on the world, for it truly is her oyster.
Ciao for now.