Clothing Swap

Beneath crystal chandeliers, stacks of clothing were neatly laid out on black draped buffet tables. Pop music blared while a man took publicity photos of women pawing through the garments. Periodically, a volunteer swept through, fussing and folding, rearranging by color. Hosted in a glitzy hotel by the non-profit, "Fashion Fights Poverty," this clothing swap was far more formal than others I've attended. Nonetheless the premise was the same: Bring along your unwanted clothes, add them to the pile and take whatever you want from other folks' rejected threads. Personally I seem to bring more than I take, but no one is keeping score. Everything left at the end of the day is donated.

At home beforehand, I tried on everything I owned, marching back and forth to the hall mirror. Had any of my housemates seen me, they would have assumed I was suffering form a first-class bout of "I have nothing to wear syndrome." Most of us apparently wear 20% of our wardrobe 80% of the time. This means we can get by with a lot fewer clothes and still look fabulous. The swap served as the perfect catalyst for me to dig deep and make room for new outfits.

I made no assumptions. My green sweater with the frill trim always looked attractive. But viewed with fresh eyes I realized it had become a little loose and suddenly my love faded. The unflattering trousers and shapeless shirts were easy to donate. Harder to abandon were the embroidered 60's blouse I picked up in Miami and the shiny top from Costa Rica I wore on my 27th birthday. They were wearable snapshots and I remember the days I bought each with fondness. But they simply didn't look good on me anymore which of course is why I never wore them and they were relegated to the back of the closet. This was a big old lesson in letting go. Here is something from a particular time and place, but I've moved on and the shirt has stayed there.

What do we have in our metaphorical closets that no longer suit us? Juvenile slang, outdated anxieties, unbalanced friendships. I've recently overcome my fear of biking in DC. I'm not sure how I did it exactly. I always wanted to be one of the cool kids, peddling right up to the crosswalk at red lights, ready to shoot across the intersection ahead of the cars. But in the past I was a nervous cyclist and rarely took my bike anywhere.

A few weeks ago I biked to Georgetown for the first time. Three miles from my house, the awkward route by public transportation means cycling takes half as long. As well as saving time and money, biking makes me feel more independent, it's good exercise and it's fun. But friends had been telling me this for years, so what took me so long to pull this old anxiety out of my wardrobe, dust it off and hold it up to the light? It seems I simply wasn't ready before.

At the clothing swap I unloaded my garments and came away with a few choice pieces including a pair of silk, pinstriped trousers and a flowing summer skirt. Pleased with my finds, I biked home to Mount Pleasant.

- Washington, D.C.