Love Notes to my Clothes

I am going to keep this relatively short. I typically keep things long but here I am with my short sentences and all, ready to talk about my clothes and my feelings. Oh yeah.

People talk about emotional attachment to inanimate objects all the time. We’ve all got those things. Maybe it’s an old rag called Dinky or Bibo or Teddy B. Bear you used to chew on as a baby. Or a pair of jeans you wore to school every day which is now more hole than it is denim. Or maybe it’s a collection of rocks you have stowed in your pockets throughout the years, tentatively tying you back to all the special places you have travelled to. They’re probably piled up in such a way that you can’t distinguish which one comes from where anymore, but you love them just the same, and by God, no matter the amount of room clean outs you subject yourself to, it’ll never be time to let go. 

The clothes I have fished out of the $5 piles are very much the victims of my unfounded devotion to non-living things. I wonder how many homes they have had before me. I remain impressed by their nondisclosure, and will continue to weave fabricated stories about my textiles’ histories.

I let my wardrobe communicate to those around me all the time. Wearing all black one day, all blue the next, followed by occasional bright reds relays more information about me than I would like to believe. My internal states and beliefs become tangible, pleated roadmaps sewn together to create one visual statement that is me. They do most of the talking.

When, though, have they ever been spoken to? Have I ever thanked them for letting me be perceived the way I see fit? For keeping me warm this winter? Or for giving me the opportunity to say “Oh my gosh thank you!!! I actually found it in the Goodwill bins!!!”? 

Maybe this isn’t so short after all. Here are my love notes to the clothes I won’t ever get rid of because I love them too much. I am glad I get to be the body on which they live.