An Open Letter to My Unloved Clothes

Dear Unloved Clothes,

I don’t want to be generic, but honestly – it’s not you, it’s me. Well, me and Marie Kondo, to be fair. But I just want to put that out there: it’s not that you’re not beautiful, or cute, or attractive, because you are. After all, that’s why you came home with me in the first place.

Unfortunately, the thing with feelings is that they sometimes fade. It wasn’t fair to you, any of you, from my brightly colored blouses to my softly worn jeans – it wasn’t fair to make you sit there, forgotten, in the back of my closet. Stuffed in the farthest corners of my drawers. Hidden behind my go-to-outfits, the ones that saw the light of day more times in a  week than you ever did in your lifetime.

Like I said, I take the blame for this. I gave in to instant gratification, facilitated by our favorite little piece of plastic, exacerbated by the ease of shopping and abundance of choices that have allowed me to be so careless in my acquisitions. Saying “yes” was so much easier than saying “no,” and let’s be honest, you were probably on sale – I just didn’t have the heart (read: willpower) to say no at the time, you understand, don’t you?

But when weeks passed by, the spark was gone. You didn’t look the way I remembered. The colors were duller, the fit was more awkward. And so you became relegated to places where I wouldn’t see you – I didn’t put you there on purpose (I’m not a monster), but there were alternatives that were just…better. That I frequented more. That caught my eye more, that I appreciated more, that I loved more. As time went on, you became my Unloved Clothes.

My hope for you is that you’re loved now, wherever you may be. While some of you have gone off to Goodwill to hopefully be chosen again, others of you are somewhere in the countryside in China. Maybe you’ve been delicately taken apart to be remade into newer, better, versions of yourselves, loved by a newer, better, more deserving owner. You’ve taught me this: to value what I already have, to remember how fortunate I am, and to think twice before swiping that little piece of plastic.



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