Splitsville!
05/25/2010
Don’t you just hate it when this happens?
(The photo of my own ripped shorts wasn’t nearly as entertaining as this found pic. Couldn’t resist going for shock value!)
The point is, ripping your pants can be a real…bummer. It can sneak up on you from…behind. Okay, okay, I’ll stop already!
I experienced it firsthand last week, as I waltzed out of my bedroom in the oh-so-comfy pair of cargo shorts that I’ve had since Clinton was in office. They’re nothing special, just a pair of khaki drawstring shorts from Old Navy that are the perfect length, perfect size and perfect in every possible way that shorts can be perfect. No wonder I’ve been wearing them around the house for a decade. They’ve seen the inside of a washing machine more times than the Maytag Man.
So back to the waltzing. As I waltzed out of my bedroom and knelt down to put on some jazz, I suddenly felt exposed. What the bleep?! My favorite no-ironing-needed shorts had ripped north to south, not on the seam, just in the worn fabric. I guess a pair of $12 cotton shorts can only take so many Vegas summers, so many tumbles in the washer.
As I stuffed them in the garbage can, I got to thinking.
- Other than socks and one painting t-shirt I’ve had since 1988, none of my clothes are on the brink of ripping.
- If I wore all my clothes until they ripped or showed obvious wear, I’d only have to shop once a decade.
- If I mended or patched, I’d have to shop once every 15 years.
- If I bought higher quality clothes, I’d have to shop once a generation.
- If we all did this, Goodwill would go belly up, the economy would crumble and our fat wallets would wear holes in our pockets.
I’m not suggesting we should boycott clothing stores and stockpile denim patches. We should; however, be more conscious of how, when and why we shop. If it’s to replace last season’s shorts that we don’t want to be seen sporting this year, that’s not okay. If it’s to replace 2001′s shorts that have disintegrated, that’s definitely encouraged.
Do you wear clothes until they rip? They’re unwearable? They’re stretched beyond recognition? Or do you get bored with your wardrobe and replace for the sport of it?
On Give It Away Saturdays I look back at my Goodwill lists and share three things I donated. Part fun, part reflection, it reminds me that I’m not defined by my (forgettable) stuff. I hope this motivates you to pack it up, move it out and finish the weekend lighter.
I’m amazed at the time, effort and money some brides of yore put into preserving their wedding gowns. Most (I said MOST) young blushing brides don’t want to wear grandma’s dress that hints of moth balls and Jean Nate. Unless you’re a vintage chic, enjoy a nice yellowish cast and like the way you look with a giant butt bow, chances are good you’d prefer your own dress.
I wonder how many brides call off the nuptials because they just can’t bear to tell grandma “I won’t” to saying “I do” in her dress. Grandma should understand. After all, she got to pick her dress.
Ten years after getting married, my gown, which I adored and would pick again, hangs in a closet at my parents’ house. It’s likely in a garment bag. I say likely because I haven’t seen it in a decade. If my mom enjoys maintaining a Smithsonian exhibit of our dresses, that’s fine. I just don’t want it in my closet. I have beautiful, sweet memories of our wedding day stored in my mind. I don’t need a 30-pound dress stored in my closet to make the memories more special.
Now that you know where I stand on the topic, you won’t be surprised to learn that I donated my wedding purse and shoes. The purse was yellow by our third anniversary. The shoes hurt my feet. The most mileage they got was walking down the aisle.
I’ll always cherish memories of our wedding. It was sweet and special, just like my wedding dress, purse and shoes, which I’ll continue to enjoy through the magic of photographs.
Gave it Away. Glad It’s Gone.
- Yellowing bridal purse.
Maybe a lucky bridesmaid can dye it seafoam green! - Tight wedding shoes.
Ahh…my first online purchase. A Pennsylvania girl with shoes from LA. How big city of me! - Spare lace-trimmed thigh highs.
The reason I needed a purse.
Read Now: Your Armpits Will Thank You
05/08/2010
Fair warning. We’re entering the realm of personal hygiene.
Still reading? Good. I promise, your armpits will thank you.
I never intended to blog about armpits. We all have them. We know how they work. We know how to handle business. End of story. Right? Well, so I thought. Then I came across this article from Plastic Fish, which praises baking soda as deodorant. That’s right, we’re talking straight Arm & Hammer.
WHAT you say? Have I gone off the deep end? Am I hugging palm trees, wearing Birkenstocks and growing dreads out here in Las Vegas? No. No. And. No. But I’m amazed at the astonishing results that can be enjoyed if you’re secure enough to experiment and live a little.
Two weeks ago, after getting over myself and locating the baking soda between the brown sugar and food coloring, I set out on my science project. I hit the shower, dried off, sealed myself in the bathroom and did the unthinkable…added baking soda to my armpits instead of my banana bread. It seemed so alternative. So nutsy. So extreme. So über environmental. So, so…REFRESHING!
That’s right. Rub the baking soda out of your eyes and read that again. REFRESHING. I kid you not. After a sweaty day of activity in the early Las Vegas heat, the experiment worked. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe my sweat glands were clogged. I repeated, including an extensive (I’ll spare you the details) end-of-day ritual associated with testing effectiveness. It worked. It worked 14 days in a row. It works. I’m as shocked, amazed and befuddled as you are.
Scientific theory is now scientific law.
Turns out, the benefits go far beyond smelling shower fresh at midnight. Here ya go:
- It’s super cheap.
- No more debating between Secret, Ban, Ladies’ Choice, Tom’s of Maine, Dove, Degree, etc. to infinity and beyond.
- It’s invisible. My experiment included sleeveless and black shirts. Not a trace.
- Goodbye plastic container bound for a landfill near you.
- Chemical free is a nice bonus.
But wait. There’s more! (Say it like Billy Mays.)
- Arm & Hammer Ultramax Deodorant can’t touch the pure stuff. I know. I tested.
- It’s tidy if you keep it in a tin and apply with a cotton ball or powder puff.
There you have it. Get over the shock. Think about it. I know many of you – even if you’ll never admit it – will be digging into the baking supplies soon.
Arm & Hammer. Who knew.
Minimalist Milestone: LOFT, meet shredder
04/14/2010
Know what this is?
It’s an Ann Taylor LOFT 25% off savings card about to meet the life-ending jaws of my trusty Fellowes cross-cut shredder.
It expires in five days.
I received it after deliberately choosing to NOT end my relationship with LOFT’s direct marketing department.
I wanted to see if I could get it and resist the urge to make a “just browsing” pilgrimage to LOFT at Fashion Show on the Strip.
I resisted. More significantly, there was no urge.
I guess when a girl realizes she can give away 60 percent of her (mostly LOFT) wardrobe and still be happy (okay, happier), that’s when urges go away. That’s also when it’s time for her to call her “good friends” at LOFT and get off the mailing list.
Now that, my loyal readers, is progress.
Even if I do say so myself.
I Love Lucy
04/05/2010
If you don’t know Lucy, make her acquaintance. I’m not talking Lucille Ball, I’m talking a niche store with the chicest, most indestructible performance apparel known to womankind. Lucy claims to combine “a mix of high-tech fabrics, precise fit and a stylist’s eye,” to basically create killer one-of-a-kind gear. This retailer delivers big time. I’m such a raving fan that I read the About section of www.Lucy.com, where I learned of their claim to fame. Because I can’t get enough Lucy (and I’m a nerd), I also read their Terms, where I discovered they prohibit linking to their site without written permission. So that’s why no link. Let’s not make Lucy mad.
Lucy pants are the object of my affection.
I discovered the store at Town Square in 2008 and spent 45 minutes in the dressing room agonizing over my pant options. Six sizes! Three lengths! Options for all body types! I was about to purchase my perfect everything pants. And I finally did. They set me back $78. I’ve never looked back.
“STOP RIGHT THERE, SISTER. I THOUGHT THIS BLOG WAS ABOUT LIVING SIMPLY WITH LESS.”
That’s exactly what it’s about. It’s also about making good purchasing decisions. For me, spending $78 on pants that I’ve easily worn 150 times (they have years left in them) makes much more sense than doing the buy-and-replace shuffle. Why buy $29 pants marked down to $17.99 only to have to replace them after a few tumbles in wash? I don’t want to wear faded, misshapen, fuzz-balled pants with the hems coming undone just because they were a bargain. I also don’t want to spend time looking for cheap replacement pants. I really don’t want to own pants that cost $3.60 per wear when I can have Lucy pants that could quite possibly cost just a dime per wear before they need to be replaced.
And therein lies my love of Lucy pants.
They don’t fade, shrink, wrinkle or stretch out.
I’ve worn them to run.
I’ve worn them to the ER.
I’ve worn them to yoga.
I’ve worn them to vote.
I’ve worn them to garden.
I’ve worn them to Ireland.
I’ve worn them to hike.
I’ve worn them to Bellagio.
I’ve worn them to bed.
I’ve worn them to make Thanksgiving dinner.
I’ve worn them to the Goodwill truck to donate faded, misshapen, fuzz-balled pants with the hems coming undone. Garments I perceived to be bargains.
I have one perfect pair of Lucy pants. I don’t need more.
Less is fabulous.
