NYPL and 1941

To begin with, despite reports to the contrary from my GP back in December, I am the picture of health and unlikely to keel over any time soon. (I braved yesterday's not-so-snowpocalypse, headed out to a doctor's appointment, and learned that all is well. Later, I celebrated with a day full of eating, including a modified vegetarian carbonara for lunch, eggrolls and soup for dinner, and brownies for dinner. Go team Emily.)

Therefore, given my recent clean bill of health, I think I'm fully equipped to move on from mooning over waste disposal (though I'm going to keep trying to schedule my terrorist-watch-list-inducing interview, even though making too many phone calls asking to tour waste treatment and processing plants may begin to arouse some suspicions). However, in the meantime, barring future success in that department, I want to pull on your coat a little bit (hah! moments from now, this will be a joke!) about clothing.

So, I spent some time this weekend organizing my closet, and I noticed something. First, I noticed that I have a lot of very similar sweaters -- nearly all black, grey, or green, and nearly all either cabled or hooded. Second, I noticed that I'm kind of woefully unfashionable. Then, though, because I'm of a ruminative nature, and because I've been thinking about waste disposal, I started to wonder: what happens to all this clothing when we're done with it? And how much do we really need?

Recently, the NY Library blog had a feature on the same topic. While things have changed (do they even still make dickies?), I was struck by one thing: I have a damn lot of clothing.

If I were ten years younger and it were 1941, I would be a straight-up clotheshorse. I have more shoes than even the Imelda Marcos-y Vassar girl, who averaged ten pairs, and I may even beat the Smithie's even dozen sweaters. Sure, I have fewer evening dresses than the average Texas coed (7 1/2? Really?), but she also reported having an even seven boyfriends. So, you know.

Here's my thing: This list was for everyday wear. The low end of that means a wardrobe comprised of a dickey, a hat, three evening dresses, three skirts, three pairs of shoes, three and a half blouses, three day dresses, and three sweaters. (Plus one boyfriend.) I'm imagining arriving to work like that for the next little while -- cycling through a total of six tops and three dresses for the remainder of the year. How long until someone commented? Or would they? (Answer: Yes. Yes they would.)

There are a lot of articles, if you pay attention to those things, about the evils of "fast fashion," of H&M and Forever 21 providing cheap, disposable clothing that only winds up in a landfill within a year or two, and I usually scoff and figure, well, I'll ditch the fast fashion when the regular kind is cheaper. But is the solution really to go the 1941 way? How would it work -- switching to fewer, higher-quality items that you can wear into the ground? This is feeling very tempting right now. We'll see.

I know, and I've known for years, that the key environmental solution is to reduce consumption, not just to recycle (or bring to Goodwill, as the case may be). I think it may be time to introduce my principles to my closet.

*Notification: As of today, I'm officially beginning requirement 4 of the Business badge: "Keep a complete and actual account of personal receipts and expenditures for six months." Yeah, this is something I should do all the time, as an actual and competent adult, but I don't. So let me start. Today: $3.75 for coffee with Wendy after work.*