Shedding the Cocoon

My closet is not big enough.  Even if I trimmed my fashion repertoire significantly, there is simply no way that I could store my fall and winter apparel at the same time I store the outfits more appropriate for the spring and summer months.  There simply is not enough room.  Growing up, I was lucky enough to have a rather large closet in my bedroom, one lined with wire shelves on both the left and the right walls, and lots of room for hanging plenty of everything in between.  I took that closet for granted when I was younger; it never crossed my innocent little mind how nice it was to have my sweaters displayed on the left side of my closet year round, my t-shirts and shorts, available on the right, any day of the year.

So the idea of a seasonal closet flip is relatively new to me; it's a skill that I had to teach myself when I moved into one of my first apartments out of college.  Under the bed, shoved into Rubbermaid bins went the chunky sweaters, the opaque tights, and the turtlenecks.  Out came the breezy dresses, the comfy shorts, the favorite T's, the beloved skirts.  And vice versa twice a year, with each and every apartment I've called home during my adult years.    

To be fair, the closet swap is kind of a pain in the neck. The weather switches over quickly here in New England and what sufficed just a week earlier is suddenly either ridiculously too hot and stifling or, depending on what season we're flipping for, far too thin and downright freezing in a matter of days.  Every year, when it's time for The Swap, I work to develop a new, better, more streamlined and efficient way of doing the whole thing.  And every year, instead, I end up with all the clothes piled high on my bed, still with the hangers tucked in, determining what category each item should fall in.  Do they land in the "eh, I don't think I love it anymore, try it on and maybe donate" pile?  Or perhaps they fall automatically into the "donate" slot.  There are always a few that go immediately to the "love it just as much as the day I bought it" pile, others that arrive in the "this is really cute, I completely forgot about it, don't make the same mistake next season" group.  And so it goes.

For this year's swap I have been trying to be extra diligent, donating things even when they still fit well and are still in excellent shape because I know I won't wear them again.  While some things are easy to dismiss as clearly a 2013 trend, many outfits that might be past their prime are harder for me to donate, particularly if they hold a special memory - picking a certain skirt out with my Mom while shopping together in Washington DC years ago, or, a particularly flattering dress I wore on a special first date.  I don't imagine I'll ever get rid of the dress I wore on my 30th birthday, or my absolute favorite yellow skirt, the one I purchased on that same DC trip with my Mom years ago, the one that makes me smile every single time I pull it from my closet.  I'm sure it sounds utterly silly and shallow to have placed so much stock, so many memories in fabric, but to me clothes always have been and will always remain a sum of our greater parts; a portion of our story.  The things we wear and the way we dress are our first unspoken message sent out to the world.  Instead of dismissing our outfits as nothing more than a necessary item to move us from point A to point B, what I have always wondered - particularly when greeted by the naysayers who dismiss fashion as frivolous is this: Why wouldn't we put our best look forward?  Why wouldn't we care how we present ourselves?
    
As I pull my wool skirts off of their hangers, or reach for the sweater dresses that have already moved gradually towards the back of my closet throughout the spring, ready to tuck them away in my storage trunk for at least three blissfully sunny and warm months, I can't help but feel like I'm shedding my cocoon for another year.  Gone, albeit briefly, are the constricting tights, the long sleeves, the layers upon layers of fabric we all rely on to keep us warm during the bitterest of the winter days.  One of life's simplest joys, in my mind, is this time of year, when we finally get to dig out those forgotten tank tops and maxi dresses.  When we rediscover our favorite cotton A-line skirt or recall again just how many, ahem, striped dresses we may own.  (For the record, I'm currently holding at 19.)  There's something so freeing about getting dressed this time of year.  You slip into an easy fitting, comfortable dress, pull your hair back into a ponytail, slip on a pair of flip flops, and voila.  Ready.  After a winter of wool socks, boots, gloves, scarves, hats and down jackets, I cherish that freedom of being able to walk out the door unencumbered as much as anything else this time of year.      

Yesterday was the Summer Solstice, marking the first official day of the summer.  We are bathed in so much light and warmth this time of year, I can't help but soak up all that I can, to raise my face to the sky each morning and be grateful the sun is out in all her glory, ready to warm each of us.   

After a ridiculously long winter and a not so stellar spring it feels like Mother Nature has finally remembered us.  We're here, we tell her, we've been waiting for you.  We've shed our layers.  We're ready for your summer kiss.

Every year, I find that I am so grateful for the summer's return and I often make the same wish each summer solstice as I watch the sun finally set on the longest day of the year. 

May it all last as long as possible.