This weekend I am moving out of my house of 19 years so we’ve brought down everything from the attic. I opened up a bag and found T-shirts and a pair of yellowed thin cotton jeans and realized they were my size 7 Calvin Klein jeans from my days in high school — you know, the pair of pants I would wear if I needed the attention of the guy who I had the crush on …
So I put them on, sure they were going to fit — and they kinda did and didn’t– just like in high school – I had to suck in my stomach to zip up and basically put on a long shirt to disguise the fact that really they are at least a size too small.
A few weeks ago I purchased a white sleeveless blouse from Scotch and Soda which reminded me of the 1970s where the ends of the shirt can be tied up at the waist. So here’s the new shirt with the old pants.
But what cracked me up — what delighted me — is that I really have always been obsessed with clothes — why would I keep these jeans for almost 40 years? Because they meant something to me and although I could not wear them, I could not discard them. And I thought I had — I’ve thought about these jeans for years and now I have them — to give me a big chuckle. These Calvin Klein circa 1977 Jeans, once white, now yellowed, are “vintage” — and I even know the right dry cleaner that could probably restore the color and take out the ink stain — the French Hand Laundry in Pasadena restored my junior prom dress years ago.
I’m a little silly, likely vain, to share this online, and definitely shameless. But I want to write about my relationship with my clothes and sometimes I’m going to be a little goofy and a little bit awkward. But that’s sometimes what we are, eh? Self-obsessed and awkward and trying to figure out ourselves — in the reflection in the mirror in our closets, or in our bathrooms, or in the borrowed mirror of the closest one we can find.