'The Chair'

Do you have 'the chair' in your room? It's not a chair that you sit on. It's the middle place between a hanger in the closet and the laundry hamper.

I remember my first chair. It was olive green velvet. It came into my room the day my sister moved her stuff out, bed and all. There was a problem with the olive green velvet chair. Something under it was broken, so that if you sat on it, it would fall unnaturally to the left. You couldn't just sit on it. Sometimes people tried to fix it, so that it could be sat upon, but that was not the mission or the destiny of the olive green velvet chair. It was to be a chair that held my clothes while I thought about it.

I have read all sorts psychological theories about 'the chair', and why people use them. Some theorize that 'the chair' is the mark of a more flexible person who is willing to accept that things are not always black and white, but need room to be more than simply clean or dirty.

For my own part, I know when I'm being pandered to by psychobabble intended to make me feel better about my flaws. I know the truth like sweet little Scarlet O'Hara who said she knew there was a hell because she was raised on it. Likewise, I know 'the chair' is a bad thing because my mother and sister told me so.

"It makes your room look messy."

"It may be a symptom of executive disfunction."

"The clothes on it aren't getting any smoother. Yes, somehow they are getting even more wrinkled, so it's not like you can whip something off 'the chair' and wear it."

I saved the best for last.

"Eventually, you're going to have to wash it anyway."

Now, 'the chair' in my room is even bigger than the olive green velvet chair that once held my clothes instead of my bottom. It's an oversized chair that will fit two people if they're cozy. It's like a black hole in my bedroom. If I can't find a piece of clothing, you can wager that 'the chair' has it.

Now, instead of having you look at my eyesore of a chair, I'll lead you across the room into my closet. Yes, look at the closet. Don't look at 'the chair'. Keep your eyes forward.

The closet is a delightful place. There are book shelves that have no books upon them, but instead beautiful high heels all in a row like I went shopping at the thrift after Marie Antionette had to donate all her shoes to charity. She was really more into necklaces at the time. Above is a chandelier. It's tiny, perfect for the space. I got it on sale at Canadian Tire, but don't tell anyone. That's just between you and me. I feel like I can tell you anything in this intimate little space that is my closet. I have a picture frame with a puff background like a giant pin cushion that I drive all my brooches into. I have a lovely collection of brooches. I have two mirrors. I have things set up to display necklaces like they do in stores. One holds a high fur Russian hat and every time I wear it, I thank God that I'm not doomed to play Anna Karanina in real life. If you pop over to the dress section, your jaw will hit the floor because if you and I went shopping at the most posh boutique you can find (where the most expensive thing is under $200) you wouldn't even be able to find a collection of dresses more excellent.

Now, I suppose you're thinking that I'm telling you about the grandness of my closet to brag. I'm not bragging. Anyone can have a closet like mine if they have the space and put their mind to it (it doesn't even take up that much space). Most of my shoes were picked up at charity shops for under $10. The last dress I purchased that I'm really excited about was purchased for $4. I threw it over my head in a thrift store that had no changing room and asked myself questions about how it would fit if I wasn't fully dressed under it. My greatness lies in my taste, not in my wallet. I understand my body, its shape and its colors, my own personality and how it all fits together.

Okay, now I am bragging. When I get dressed, I know what I'm doing. You will never see me standing in my closet with a red face having a tiny temper tantrum because 'I have nothing to wear!' I have tons of things to wear. Endless things to wear. In 2023, I did a little fashion challenge with myself that I would wear something different to church every Sunday for an entire year. I think I may still be having that challenge as I continue to shake up outfits and try new combinations.

Back to 'the chair'.

I have a new theory. I've never heard this one proposed by any brainy intellectuals. Here is it.

You have 'the chair' because you don't like your clothes.

Think about it. I have.

My nice clothes don't end up on 'the chair'. They are taken into the closet with care. The crinoline goes back into its box. The dress goes back on the hanger to join her friends for the after-party. The necklace goes back onto its stand like a bird returning to her swing. The shoes go back into their place on the bookshelf like they have a story to tell. And if anything needs to be laundered, it goes into the hamper so that it will be washed and cared for.

What's on 'the chair'? The nightgown? No. She's a black and orange butterfly dress that gets hung up (it's a kaftan, they're just calling them butterfly dresses this year. No butterflies, real or imaginary, were part of the creation of the butterfly dress). The boyfriend hoodie? Yes. You might find the boyfriend hoodie on 'the chair', but he's there because I wear him all the time during the week. Hanging him up would be a pain. Under that? That's where I put the clothes that I don't care about.

Honestly, I could take a page out of a Marie Kondor book. That's where the clothes are that don't bring you joy. They're on 'the chair'. You're too lazy to care for them properly because you don't love them. They're in limbo, because you don't care enough about them to send them to heaven or hell (as a side note, the hamper is heaven and the closet is hell in this metaphor. Some things hang forever in the closet and never get to come out, but something that went to the hamper was worn and loved).

To conclude, as the daughter of a minimalist who can't help but be a teensy bit for a maximalist, I've got to tell you, that's the problem. You don't like your clothes. Well, now is the perfect time to fall in love with clothes. There has never been more variety of clothing available for lower costs. Allow me to list the benefits of falling in love with fashion.

No more indecision. When you have clothes you love and it's time to get dressed, there is no more freaking out in front of a full closet.

Easy to put away laundry. When you want to wear what you have, doing the laundry can be better than shopping. You're excited to get your favorite pieces ready to go for another round.

Happy and confident when you're out and about. Even if you're only excited that you've got on a pair of red panties, this feeling can infect other parts of your life. Things can roll off your back easier if nothing bad can happen to you if you're wearing your lucky panties. No one needs to know why you're a little happy.

Clean room. I know that you can sort out your chair problem. I know I can't. It's too late for me. If I don't throw my clothes on 'the chair', I'll just throw something else. I'll throw papers I don't want to deal with, presents I either need to give or ones I received, or, worst of all, I'll put 'the bags' there.

Stay with me. I'll write another piece about 'the bags'. Then later, we can have a chat about executive disfunction.