I’m purging again
My clothes hang on an exposed rod on my bedroom wall, so I’m forced to look at everything I own, every day. It makes me crazy to see clothes I don’t wear, just hanging there gathering dust. I feel like they’re glaring at me. Alongside, of course, her genius folding technique, the single best bit from that Marie Kondo book is about not forcing yourself to keep something because you feel guilty about how much money you spent on it. I used to do that, and then I’d feel like shit every time I saw, for example, the leather pants I paid way too much money for back in 2003. (They looked amazing on me! But they tore, and I paid way too much money to have them repaired, and then they tore again. GONE.)
Purging continues to be one of my favorite pastimes.
I frequently drop bags of crap at Goodwill or Out of the Closet. And by “crap,” I mean totally wearable, non-special clothes. This I consider Level One Purging. Admirable, but not heroic. Level Two Purging is giving away great things I never wear. Beautiful bright-red sneakers, one half size too small. The perfect black booties, one whole size too narrow. A caftan that made me feel like a fraud. The trick is to give it to someone who will appreciate it. I’m still learning how to do this, matching the right item with the right friend, letting go of a thing I have cherished—and maybe spent too much money on. When I succeed, it’s a rush. And it makes me feel better about taking shopping risks. You can't always predict what will be your new favorite can't-live-without-it item of clothing and what will be a WOOL TANK TOP just hanging in your closet glaring at you.
Yeah. Back in May I bought a wool tank top at Wasteland. I knew better. I really did. But it was a brand new Yohji Yamamoto in safety orange, which is my power color, and it was 85% off. It’s basically a worthless item of clothing. Too hot to wear when the temp creeps up over 72, too cool to wear when it dips down below 72. I knew this. I tried to leave it behind, but then the fitting room attendant was like, "That looked so good on you!" so I grinned and snatched it back and marched it over to the register. Slain by vanity. I'm still not ready to give the fucking thing away. It’s safety orange.
Speaking of safety orange, there’s a flawless vintage LL Bean down vest, size small, giving me the side eye right this second. Any takers? It’s just wasting away in this clime.
*****
This month on the big screen: My mom and I spontaneously ducked into a matinee of The Midwife, knowing very little about it, and we were so glad we did. What a joy to see two complicated female characters, both well over 40!, grappling with life and love and regrets and all the big stuff. Landline, Gillian Robespierre’s latest project, is also terrific, featuring two great younger female characters, along with Edie Falco, who slays as always.
This month in print: At first I resisted the pull of Dana Spiotta’s Innocents and Others. Meadow, the protagonist—one of three protagonists, really—grated on me. She’s young and attractive and much too aware of it. Also she’s a pretentious film geek. I almost stopped reading. But by page 30, when we meet Jelly, a not-so-attractive (not so young) woman who hides at the other end of a phone line, an emotional con-artist who cold-calls Hollywood creatives, drawing them in with her voice, I too was drawn in. (If you’re not up for a whole novel, you can read the short story version that was printed in the New Yorker.)
This month in tacos: I ate so many tacos, you guys. I ate tacos in LA and NYC and all over Austin. I’m getting fussier and fussier. Austin is tough for me because it’s a flour tortilla town, and though you can usually ask for (gluten-free) corn tortillas, they don’t stack up to the homemade corn tortillas that are the norm in LA. Here’s what will say: The breakfast tacos at Torchy’s are tasty, and their queso is GREAT, even though the chips aren’t homemade. Fussssy! And the asadero taco from Matt’s Famous El Rancho, which is a totally cheeseball place—like, maybe don’t go there?—is quite good. In NYC, the adobada (marinated pork) at Chelsea Market’s Los Tacos No. 1 is really very good. Best taco I’ve had in the five boroughs, maybe.
This month in melons: I accidentally bought a “golden” watermelon from Trader Joe’s, which is sweeter/milder than the regular version. I’ve been slicing it in chunks and sprinkling it with sea salt and a little cayenne. VERY DELICIOUS. Can’t say enough good things about watermelon, golden or otherwise.
*****
xoxo,
Laramie
Pls feel free to reply directly with a 👍 or 👎
Purging continues to be one of my favorite pastimes.
I frequently drop bags of crap at Goodwill or Out of the Closet. And by “crap,” I mean totally wearable, non-special clothes. This I consider Level One Purging. Admirable, but not heroic. Level Two Purging is giving away great things I never wear. Beautiful bright-red sneakers, one half size too small. The perfect black booties, one whole size too narrow. A caftan that made me feel like a fraud. The trick is to give it to someone who will appreciate it. I’m still learning how to do this, matching the right item with the right friend, letting go of a thing I have cherished—and maybe spent too much money on. When I succeed, it’s a rush. And it makes me feel better about taking shopping risks. You can't always predict what will be your new favorite can't-live-without-it item of clothing and what will be a WOOL TANK TOP just hanging in your closet glaring at you.
Yeah. Back in May I bought a wool tank top at Wasteland. I knew better. I really did. But it was a brand new Yohji Yamamoto in safety orange, which is my power color, and it was 85% off. It’s basically a worthless item of clothing. Too hot to wear when the temp creeps up over 72, too cool to wear when it dips down below 72. I knew this. I tried to leave it behind, but then the fitting room attendant was like, "That looked so good on you!" so I grinned and snatched it back and marched it over to the register. Slain by vanity. I'm still not ready to give the fucking thing away. It’s safety orange.
Speaking of safety orange, there’s a flawless vintage LL Bean down vest, size small, giving me the side eye right this second. Any takers? It’s just wasting away in this clime.
*****
This month on the big screen: My mom and I spontaneously ducked into a matinee of The Midwife, knowing very little about it, and we were so glad we did. What a joy to see two complicated female characters, both well over 40!, grappling with life and love and regrets and all the big stuff. Landline, Gillian Robespierre’s latest project, is also terrific, featuring two great younger female characters, along with Edie Falco, who slays as always.
This month in print: At first I resisted the pull of Dana Spiotta’s Innocents and Others. Meadow, the protagonist—one of three protagonists, really—grated on me. She’s young and attractive and much too aware of it. Also she’s a pretentious film geek. I almost stopped reading. But by page 30, when we meet Jelly, a not-so-attractive (not so young) woman who hides at the other end of a phone line, an emotional con-artist who cold-calls Hollywood creatives, drawing them in with her voice, I too was drawn in. (If you’re not up for a whole novel, you can read the short story version that was printed in the New Yorker.)
This month in tacos: I ate so many tacos, you guys. I ate tacos in LA and NYC and all over Austin. I’m getting fussier and fussier. Austin is tough for me because it’s a flour tortilla town, and though you can usually ask for (gluten-free) corn tortillas, they don’t stack up to the homemade corn tortillas that are the norm in LA. Here’s what will say: The breakfast tacos at Torchy’s are tasty, and their queso is GREAT, even though the chips aren’t homemade. Fussssy! And the asadero taco from Matt’s Famous El Rancho, which is a totally cheeseball place—like, maybe don’t go there?—is quite good. In NYC, the adobada (marinated pork) at Chelsea Market’s Los Tacos No. 1 is really very good. Best taco I’ve had in the five boroughs, maybe.
This month in melons: I accidentally bought a “golden” watermelon from Trader Joe’s, which is sweeter/milder than the regular version. I’ve been slicing it in chunks and sprinkling it with sea salt and a little cayenne. VERY DELICIOUS. Can’t say enough good things about watermelon, golden or otherwise.
*****
xoxo,
Laramie
Pls feel free to reply directly with a 👍 or 👎
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