Growing up in New York City and living in a one-bedroom apartment with my sister, mother and father presented some interesting logistical problems such as where to put our clothing. In that there were two closets, remember closets in those days were three feet wide, two feet deep and tall enough for short people. One was for hanging clothes and the other for jackets and coats. This space problem was challenging to say the least and many of us improvised by having standing armoires to accommodate the overflow. And overflow there was.
I believe that our love affair with clothing was in part because our homes had to be functional, and the major means of self expression took place when we emerged from our 800 square foot abodes. Then, too, we lived in the clothing capital of the world and had the department store of rejects, overruns and seconds- Alexanders on Fordham Road in the Bronx. (Boston had Filenes ) It was the time of accomplished bargain hunting. Stories were generated about fights erupting over one of a kind designer fashion-tug of wars and all that. It was New York after all, and we New Yorkers haven’t time to negotiate a fair settlement. Brawn was the answer.
So I came by my clothing fetish naturally. I have been scorned for having five closets full of clothing and could potentially wear a new outfit every day for the 365. So you can imagine the angst when I try to purge my collection, which I fought long and hard to attain. The person I select to assist has to meet very definite criteria. She must have a great style, a gentle manner, and be unrelenting in extracting the worn, ruined, hideous pieces in my collection.
A few years ago, Sue Shabazz, fit the bill. When I really loved an outfit, but clearly it no longer fit or was right for me at 60, I would ask her if she would wear it. Sue, who is a size 6 to my then 12, always agreed. I never saw her wear any of these discarded items, nor did I have a chance to rummage through the garbage bag that was full of garments ripped from my claws. She quickly ferreted the bags away as she sped out of my driveway with a very pained expression on her face.
Enter 15 years later, and I engaged Ginni Chapel to assist. You may remember Ginni for her remodeling of the downtown Benicia Library and for her hair salon, Narcissus. Ginni started her career, after studying at the Detroit Art Institute, as a fashion designer. She met my criteria as a clothing purger as she is very kind while getting a job done.
Ginni had me sit on the bed as she disappeared into my walk-in closet. Let’s call that closet No. 1 of my five closets. Even after my Sue purge, I managed to fill all my closets once more. So Ginni was the Vanna to my resistance. We were doing very well with her kindly separating me from some well-worn, ruined, hideous items. However, there was the skirt and jacket outfit I managed to escape with from a then-war torn Guatemala. Ginni was pointing out the ugliness of this machine woven garment that had a square jacket and a poofy skirt with an elastic band. She finally suggested that I separate the two pieces as they were particularly heinous when worn together. Back in the closet they went. After two hours and three quarters of that closet reviewed, we broke for lunch. After a quick repast, we returned. Ginni was now renewed and wasn’t putting up with any of my nonsense. When the black garbage bag was filled, she made some excuses. She took several pieces I forced her to take. Ginni loves to refashion clothing and I can hardly wait to see these updated versions. I must note that I did hear her tires squeal as she went speeding out of my driveway.
I still have four closets left to review, but Ginni has not mentioned that possibility, so I am currently looking for someone to assist who meets the level of a Sue and Ginni. So far no one is offering.
By the way, if you happen to be passing by Goodwill in the Southampton Shopping Center,there is a lovely taupe suit that got away. It is a great item and I hope it finds a good home.

Ellen Blaufarb is a marriage family therapist.

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