A New Sort of Tweener

If there is one thing in my house that defines "organized chaos", it would be my closet.

Now, I like my closet.  It's a nice sized walk-in with a few shelves that have a tendency to fall down when I try to take (aka, yank) something off the top shelf.  It has enough room to actually see all our clothes at once. Unlike my old house, which had a nice long closet that ran the length of the wall.  To actually see what was in it, you had to grab a flashlight and go on an exploring expedition that looked like it came out of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  In fact, every time I see that movie, MacGyver and I laugh about how it totally looks like us trying to get dressed in the morning.  I swear, one day I totally expected to go searching for a pair of shoes and find Narnia...

Anywho, back to my closet.

I was looking for something to wear this morning, and realized that while my side of the closet was beautifully organized, I really didn't have much to wear. (Notice I said "side".  Yes, in a closet with four walls, my clothes only fill up one side.  One part of one side.  I married a man that has at least 5x more clothes than me.  How can that be possible?!  Ah yes.  He's half Italian.)

Here are my clothes, separated by type, sleeve length, and color.  I start with my sleeveless tanks and camis (organized from light to dark), followed by short sleeve, long sleeve, sweaters, skirts, shorts, capris, pants, and finally, dresses.  All from light to dark.  All on matching wooden hangers (I have an aversion to metal hangers worse than anything you'll see from Mommy Dearest...) and facing the same way.

And, I have almost nothing to wear because nothing matches.

There are preppy Lily Pulizer tunics and capris hanging next to sexy Cache skirts and tank tops.   Boring and slightly frumpy Ann Taylor capris next to brightly colored Juicy Couture tees.  I have lost my "style".  Or, worse yet, hung onto styles that looked great a decade ago (younger, no kids, 20 pounds lighter) and no longer fit my butt or my life (or, this century).   "Hello, this is 1998 calling.  I want my clothes back..."

I used to be a professional stylist of sorts.  I worked in retail, and was even a Buyer's Assistant.  I used to be on the cutting edge of fashion, and dressed my "clients" up for interviews and engagement parties and exotic vacations.  And now, I can't even dress myself.

I think it's because I'm kind of a "tweener".  I'm not young enough to pull off the low slung jeans and baby tees of my twenties, and I'm not old enough (I hope!) to consider Chico's "hip".  Everything out there seems either too trashy or too frumpy.  Or, just plain not flattering.  So I keep everything, regardless of whether it fits, and hope that I'll find that one pair of "something-or-other" that will pull my whole closet together.

Until then, I'll have to continue to organize my chaotic, yet colorful, closet of unusable treasures.  Or, at least find some matching storage boxes that I can label and stack in perfectly matched rows to contain my "pretties".  But, then I'd be stuck in the same place I am now--with nothing to wear but my boring Old Navy capris, Ann Taylor shorts, and v-neck t-shirts, with the occasional yoga pants thrown in.  The uniform of a 30-something "tweener".