The other day I was sitting on the floor in my room and randomly caught my closet out of the corner of my eye and had one of those super anti-materialistic moments. You know, where you freak out and want to get rid of every single thing you own and just start over? Like your possessions are weighing you down and you’re just going to drown in a vast sea of shoes and gadgets and shit? And, on top of everything, it all makes your apartment look ever so sloppy? Sure, it could have something to do with all the receipts and used cups and clothes lying around on the floor…but nah, it mostly has to do with you owning too much in the first place, I bet. Get rid of shit and you don’t have to clean, right??? I know, I’m clever like that.
So my closet was a disaster. There were like five articles of clothing per hanger and the floor was littered with shit that had fallen off their hangers and there wasn’t enough room for everything at all (and I have a pretty huge closet). Now, I’m not some spoiled shopaholic or anything; it just so happens I’ve been lugging around stuff from my high school wardrobe and college collection and it’s all accumulated into some huge monstrosity. I mean, it all still fits and so I’m always like, “Well…what if I really need to wear something that makes me look like I’m in high school some day?” (granted, I was an incredibly well-dressed high schooler; I was always strutting around in skirts and dresses and shit before dressing up for school was popular…I know, I know, who would’ve ever thought I was such a little trendsetter?).
So I decide to try everything in my closet on and be brutally honest and cut my wardrobe down by like 70%, and haul a big old sack of stuff down to Goodwill. I go through the first few things and throw them in the “BOGUS” pile (and discover in the process that I must have kind of looked like a slut my senior year of high school and freshman year of college…these shirts were short and tight and low) and then I’m getting over heated from all the work (it was harder than it sounds, damn it) and so I slip out of the jeans I’m wearing and into a harmless little miniskirt.
Next item: some red peasanty tank top that I never really wore all that often because I didn’t really like how it fit or something. And red isn’t really my deal. Plus, it had weird little tying things a
t the shoulders. Like something most people’s mamas would like. I hold it up to Eric and he barely glances at it before telling me to toss it. I almost do…but I’m curious to see what it’s looking like these days so I slip it over my head, look in the mirror and…damn, the thing is hot. And even a little avant garde looking or something (it somehow went from The Partridge Family to The Velvet Underground in less than five seconds). “What is up with this shit?” I think…and then I realize: it’s the fucking miniskirt. The shirt looks insanely good not because of itself, but because of the magical tiny skirt I’m wearing. Eric looks over and says he thinks I should keep it after all and I say I don’t know, I haven’t worn the thing in five years…but then ultimately toss it in the keep pile. And, I’m not even exaggerating, this happens with like the next ten shirts.
Finally the damn skirt conquers me and I give up and just stuff most of the stuff into my hallway closet (out of sight, out of mind…yessiree).
Miniskirts totally do rule though. They make everything look way better and they’re actually pretty comfortable and there’s easy access to the goods (heh) and all that good stuff. You need to be careful how you sit and such (wouldn’t want to be flashing the cooch or anything…though all you have to do is wear cute underwear with some actual coverage…or just don’t be a celebrity getting out of a car while photogs are hounding you), and you shouldn’t wear especially tight or low-cut shirts with them unless you want to look easy (or desperate for attention)…but otherwise they’re pretty grand. Wear them. Or tell the person you’re with to wear them.
And yeah, they’re evil. But since when do I deny evil things? Evil usually means tempting and I’m not one to resist temptation (what, you are? Right).
I'm a writer, music freak, pop culture critic-at-large, natural born lover, and professional crayon drawer.
