Originally published by The Clifton Courier, October 30, 2019

So I mentioned last week that I had finally re-entered the world of hanging clothing and it was so monumental a life event that I’m going to write two columns about it.

The cynic in you might be saying “hey now, hold on, this stinker wrote two columns about something that shouldn’t have even been a column just the other week, what gives!?” and that inner cynic would be bang on. And if that inner cynic suggested the reason I’m dragging out two columns from the single life event because I’m so boring these days I have no interesting adventures to write about… I wouldn’t have a strong argument to rebut that cynic. I mean, I found being introduced to ginger honey (which is like gingerbread melted down into a golden goo that you can slather on your toast – it’s the only proof of the existence a higher power I’ll ever need) pretty darn exciting, but that’s purely subjective.

Anyway, back to the wardrobe.

For longer than a reasonable, well-balanced adult should, I had been keeping most of my clothes stored in those striped plastic zip-up bags that everyone seems to use when moving houses. They were stashed in different locations in southeast Queensland – some in Brisbane, some in Toowoomba and some, because I wouldn’t be a typical millennial if they weren’t, stashed at my parents’ house in Clifton.

My foldables were scrunched away and my hanging clothes were draped over the shabby chic decorative ladder I once copped serious stink-eye from a hard-core garage saler for snagging. It was a horrible system because it meant I had nowhere to artfully display my candles or obscure knick knacks because my purely-for-aesthetics ladder was being utilised for practical purposes and I would have to lift all the clothes I had pile on top to get to a piece the bottom.

This pile system/shambles meant I ended up cycling through the same four or five outfits because the effort of digging though sacks or wrangling a pile of clothing outweighed the spice of life that can only come from wearing a retina-burningly-bright top every once and a while.

But once my wardrobe was up and ready for clothing, that all changed.

I opened up my sacks of questionable garment choices, discovering items I had completely forgotten that I owned. It was like finding a forgotten fiver in your pocket, only instead of money I had worthless gaudy op shop buys that had no place in a corporate work setting. I tore into those bags like a child/myself on Christmas morning (minus the breakfast chockies, unfortunately).

Here are some of the pieces I rediscovered:

A glorious tshirt with an image of galloping horses on a light blue fabric, which gives the impression they are running out of the sky: This was perhaps one of the best Christmas presents I’ve ever received and never fails to draw compliments when I wear it*. I’ve recently started wearing it to work by pairing it with pencil skirts, which I think ads a nice corporate touch. Of course, the pencil skirt is often my bright orange one, which perhaps fits into the corporate-attention-seeker category.

* It’s the perfect self-esteem booster, which is weird, because I had nothing to do with shirt other than the fact that I am sometimes inside it. I didn’t make the shirt. I didn’t come up with the design. I didn’t even chose to buy it. And yet, every time someone compliments it, I take it as a huge endorsement for me as a person. 

A shirt that reads Who Farted? Another cracking Christmas present that represents the line of casualness I won’t cross at work. This one’s purely for leisure time.*

* I once wore this shirt jogging and completely forgot what was written across my chest as I huff and puffed through industrial Brisbane. I couldn’t work out why the truckies were so smiley until I got home and looked in the mirror. The shirt is a reference to the crass grandpa in The Sweetest Thing – old mate wears a shirt that says “who farted?”. They don’t sell these shirts in stores for some reason, so my sister had to make this herself using iron-on transfers and ingenuity. 

A navy linen button up shirt: Perfect for pairing with colourful floral shorts, as the relaxed collared vibe reassures the beholder that my bottoms aren’t supposed to paired with pyjamas (not that it matters, however).

A bright yellow knit jacket with the number 83 repeated in a bizarre pattern: An essential, obviously.

A denim skirt that goes to just above my ankles: It has pockets and is so long that you can sit down inside of it as if you’re the filling in a denim pita bread. It’s perfect for spontaneous picnics, providing a barrier between green ants and my bottom.

A business shirt with dramatic sleeves: It looks all very corporate until you get down to the cuffs, which are about double the length of normal business shirts and fold back with an audacious flair. It’s perfect for putting out the message that you’re a recovering show pony when you’re too busy being a businesswoman to showcase your obnoxious personality.