Ever since my roommate moved out, I have claimed two closets and two dressers for myself. Naturally, both sets overflow with jeans, tunics, camisoles, sweaters, jackets, dresses, and as many other forms of garments that exist (except possibly a hoopskirt.) I took advantage of all the extra space by transferring as much of my home wardrobe to my dorm as possible. On one hand, the vastness of my wardrobe overwhelms me, yet on the other, my pride swells over the mere sight of all the beautiful stuff piled up in my room.
At least in terms of my love for materiality, more specifically clothing and accessories, I am a product of my society. More is more, and more is good. Even more is even better. Who do I have to thank? The plethora of glamorous and fantastical fashion-oriented media out there.
Gorgeous catalogs, hip websites, coffee table books, chick lit, girly movies, posters, billboards—advertising and the worship of fashion exists everywhere in my urban lifestyle. How can I help but covet that shawl or that coat? Everything looks so deliciously desirable.
And there’s comforting in knowing I can taste a bit of that fashion pie. There’s something comforting in knowing that no matter the day, no matter the occasion, I will always have something suitable to wear. I can reach for my bright red and gold gown for a medieval masquerade or grab a cardigan sweater to complete my signature “flamboyant librarian” look. Thanks to the spectrum of color, fit, brand, and age available in my closet(s), I am always prepared.
Of course, there are other days where the choices drown me. I could take a denim jacket, a lace baby-doll top, plain trousers, chandelier earrings, and heeled boots OR I could pair a cropped sweater with a paisley dress, ballet flats, and seed bead bracelets. But then I could also do a locket with a solid thermal shirt, a flouncy skirt, and snakeskin flats. Or…I could go on. For paragraphs.
Although I am a product of my society in the sense that I crave material la-la, I loathe spending money. Call me anti-capitalist, but I am not an avid shopper—I prefer to read, write, watch free movies, or go to the park thanks to my frugal nature. I am, however, certainly an avid collector. If someone gives me a pretty frock, I gladly accept it. If yet another girl from my dormitory has thrown away a pair of jeans in my size, I will scoop it out from the hall garbage can, wash it, and keep it. If my mother picks up something at a thrift store, I will try it on and likely decide to add it to my menagerie.
And, thus, my closets and dresses groan like gluttons leaving a buffet. Except that they never eat. Only I do, feasting my eyes upon my glorious wardrobe.