I’m #Decluttering and Also Fuck You Jeremy

 

Spring is springing and you know what that means! Out with the old, in with the new, and fuck you Jeremy for once again spiritedly shitting upon my emotional bedrock like an incontinent baboon. 

Science fact: a wardrobe makeover helps you look at the world with fresh, sparkly eyes. Almost as if those eyes never stung with the salt of a thousand misspent tears or reddened with the strain of watching you retreat time and again into ambiguity and stock excuses. 

I admit it. Part of me is uneasy at the thought of change. But part of me also hopes Jeremy's rectum will unexpectedly prolapse at the gym, and so here I am with my 37 IKEA organizing cubes and a trough of rosé that says, "Hey world! I'm ready to hit reset on this closet and also your new girlfriend looks like a sad milk carton child!”

So this weekend, it’s #detox time! I’m breaking out those trash bags, putting that ABBA on blast and btw Jeremy’s ATM pin is 0407. 

Of course, there’s always that one little number in the back of your closet that you just can’t seem to part with. Ladies, you know the one.

Maybe you wore it to that legendary festival. Maybe it makes your booty look bangin’. Or maybe it feeds you just enough tenderness and human connection that you privately entertain the hope that your unwarranted and frankly inappropriate devotion will one day quicken a long-dormant seed of love. 

Or perhaps you bought it for like $130 at Anthropologie and are planning on getting it dry-cleaned eventually. Maybe Tuesday. 

But you know what? Just because you spent serious paper on that romper or Jeremy keeps occasionally letting you fuck him or mint green really makes your highlights pop, it’s just not worth letting that unworn, unflattering, or chronically emotionally unavailable item take up valuable real estate in your closet.

If your closet is packed with last-season’s frocks and also the leaden weight of a youthful romance turned sour and harsh, you’ll never have room for all the on-trend loot you’ve been eyeing up, like those galaxy leggings or Allen the architect from your cousin's wedding in Chicago.

Allen could design an entirely new closet, with recessed strip lighting and jewelry drawers and zero storage for Jeremy's collection of ironic trucker hats. 

It’s time to get real about what deserves to stay in my closet and what needs to go. I hope that this reboot of my wardrobe really shifts the energy in my life, similar to how I hope you’re happy with whatever milquetoast relationship of convenience you eventually slide into. 

Here’s to a summer of new clothes, hot sand, cool mojitos and I fucked your brother.