Style, part I

This weekend I ruthlessly went through my closet, discarding every piece of clothing that never fit, never flattered, or in all likelihood never will fit or flatter again.

This isn't too unusual, but this year the process feels more important: I'm also throwing out a lot of old mainstays. They're looking shabby, washed out, stretched out. I never cared, I wore them like that for years. But finally, it's time to say bye-bye to the potato sack pants, the broken schoolmarm boots, the tees with ink and salad dressing stains.

Bye bye hooker skirt, nice knowing you. Bye bye black velvet jacket, see you next fall. Spring is no time for you.

To paraphrase Bukowski, it's better to do a dull thing with style than a dangerous thing without it. Dull or dangerous––I'll leave that judgment to the gods. I turn my attention now to false idols, and set out in search of style.