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Last week, against my better judgment and the much miscalculated judgment of an older brother, I agreed to be set up on a blind date. Hayden was a graduate student in Psychology who had just bid au revoir to a semester abroad in France and was apparently “So your type, Neenie! He’s got a killer personality.” Conventionally, assurance of a blind date’s great personality may hint towards less than satisfactory appearances, so I was sweetly surprised when a gorgeous boy showed up at my doorstep.
As we headed off to The Flying Saucer, a swanky San Franciscan fusion cuisine restaurant, initial conversations were a bit on the flittering and random side; he complimented me on my shoes (colorful velvet bowed Casadei kitten heels I was proudly debuting), I complimented him on his charcoal gray James Perse button-up. We chatted about studying abroad in Europe; he recounted crazy stories of boozy nights in Paris as I told him of my plans to study at Oxford and Spain come fall. We even talked about Berkeley’s very own William Hung and how I felt his “talent” resembled karaoke, which was more about exhibitionism than actual music.
And then, somewhere between nursing my second glass of Sauvignon Blanc and biting into grilled mahi mahi with lime coulis, Hayden hit a topic that would remain the subject of conversation for the remainder of the evening. After recently studying a theory claiming a person’s soul is bared through her telltale closet, he proceeded to assume the role of Dr. Phil with mine. “My closet?” I ask warily. All my friends know that I dread talking about my embarrassingly cluttered closet almost as much as I dread shopping in Saks sans the good ol’ Platinum. Nevertheless, I was intrigued by the proposal of discovering what my closet could indicate about my personality. I blame the wine for making me talk. It didn’t matter, apparently an open closet had become the new open book and everyone was falling victim—fashion victim, that is.
The Sentimentalist |
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The theory claims that the aesthetics of a cluttered, crammed and disparate closet reflect parallel mind characteristics of being easily distracted, passionate and oftentimes rebellious. Hayden also explains how a closet can reveal multiple sides of a personality. “The sentimentalist”, as he calls it, is quickly narrowed in as one of my more prominent sides. This is a person who maintains certain articles of clothing because of their inextricable links to sentiments and memories. As I try to explain my way out of keeping a two-sizes-too-small cashmere sweater (it was my first purchase from Barney’s and a hundred little pink bunny noses soft) or my frothy tea-rose party dress (I wore it to my first school dance!), I realize that perhaps practicality isn’t my forte.
Admittedly, I tend to keep things around longer than I should, and I suppose most people wouldn’t dredge up old dance recital costumes and deem them appropriate sorority mixer attire. Yet Hayden is taking a leap when he suggests that my tendency to harbor sentimental clothing indicates problems with letting go of the past and being satisfied with a current way of life. I make a lighthearted joke that perhaps all it indicates is a need for a more spacious walk-in. In a world that can be chaotic and impersonal, which feeling bella doesn’t keep a collection of clothes around that makes her heart happy, that triggers lingering memories of first kisses and first rock concerts? I’ll choose to keep my fugly Lilith Fair ’99 cami hanging right next to Petro Zillia, thank you very much.
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The Collector
If sentiments are frowned upon, then obsessions are surely my undoing. With today’s fabulous denim selection from specialists such as Blue Cult, Paper Denim and Miss Sixty, I believe a girl can never own too many pairs of jeans as long as they tastefully flatter and showcase her best ass-ets. Over the years I have amassed a small fortune through my denim collection and quite honestly fiend the thrill of discovering another pair of well-tailored jeans. I even snapped up two identical blue fusion Papers (bleaching one of pairs) just because I loved the style so much. After all, it’s imperative to have jeans suitable for every occasion: for schlepping around, for jazzy bar nights, for strolling in the park…you get the idea.
Hayden’s analysis on my twenty-some odd pairs in constant spin cycle? “Because you collect so many variations of the same item, it might indicate a tendency towards fickleness and ambiguity when it comes to making a decision—you’re the kind of girl who wants all the candy in the candy store.” What would the theory say about stiletto lovers, feminist penis envy? I look down at my AG’s and silently wonder if I was better off calling it an early night and snuggling into the sheets with a Vogue in one hand and a double-stuffed Oreo in the other. With as much sparkly optimism as I can muster, I look up and say “I think I’m just a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.”
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The Extravagant
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My Burberry Cromwell Trench, purchased a year ago with a purse brimming full of cash, is probably the most extravagant item in my closet. Sure, my best friend Becky’s jaw dropped when I gleefully showed her the purchase, but the trench was a long time coming. I had oohed and aahed when this ingenuity of classic chic was worn by Audrey Hepburn in “Breakfast and Tiffany’s” and Catherine Deneuve in “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg,” and fell in a hopeless case of love when the coat underwent a revamp as modeled by Kate Moss circa 1997. I just had to have it, much like I had to have Primp’s $170 ice cream splatter hoodie touted by Jessica Simpson, my $400 Isabella Fiore when sequined totes were the hot commodity, and the aforementioned $350 Casadei heels.
So I’m not immune to the guiles of a celebrity and designer soaked culture and I splurge now and then. Does that equate to what the closet theory calls “A weak sense of self and a use of material possessions to advance self-esteem?” Oy vey. I try to do my damnedest to justify myself and mention how much of my retro and designer clothing is purchased from vintage consignments such as Wasteland and Crossroads. “I once bought a pair of the cutest Ferragamo’s for 16 bucks!” I declare proudly. I tell him how I am constantly cutting up shirts, jeans, even dresses in an effort to keep them looking fresh and original. So the next time the closet theory (which I was growing more and more skeptical of) tries to typify me as a girl with a “weak sense of self”, at least I’ll have some altered 5 dollar vintage tees to throw back.
The Dreamer |
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| When I was seven, I wished more than anything that I could be Ariel from “The Little Mermaid.” I wanted to explore glittering treasure chests, comb my hair with a fork, and be whisked off in a gorgeous ball gown by the handsome Eric. It comes as no surprise then, that Hayden’s last analysis pegs me for a dreamer. Was it a “princess-complex fantasy world” as he describes? I may be a dreamer, but just because I own pink in unabashed excess and love gauzy, ephemeral fabrics does not mean I still harbor wishes to be a princess. Yes I do own my fair share of beautiful slips and dresses, many of which I’ve set aside for trips I’ve yet to take or affairs I’ve yet to attend. A stunning butter cream-colored ball gown purchased at a sample sale last fall is still secretly tucked away in the back of my closet, quietly waiting to make its appearance. But that’s just practicing better-safe-than-sorry ethics. I finish off the last bite of a delicious strawberry penna cotta and smile graciously. At least some good came out of this whole silly-nilly analysis: It reminded me of a dress I had forgotten I owned. Think about how ironic it is for the word “psycho” to precede “analysis”. My date with Hayden reminded me of why I switched my major away from Psychology: pointed analysis in a “this-is-you” format ruins all the fun of actual self-discovery and is farfetched at times. And even if the closet theory does hold a grain a truth about personalities, isn’t there a smidge of a sentimentalist, a collector, an extravagant and a dreamer in all of us? I don’t think it should matter whether you own the authentic Hermes Kelly bag or the $60 canvas “Kelly Bag” playoff—at the end of the day, struggling with inner conflicts or not, we are all just people. People who are proud to say they contain multitudes.
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