The things we do to stay sane

I don't think I'm any more neurotic than the average bear really. I function well. I get my work done on time. I have several healthy relationships with normal people. I just want to get that out of the way for now, okay? My clothes, however, have been a bit of a trouble for me since I decided it was time to stop dressing like a fifteen year old from the suburbs. It all started when I was reading a GQ in a library in Niigata. I don't look like this, I thought, but I want to.

I have been trying to simplify my wardrobe down to only the most basic elements and no longer have three things I really like to wear and a bunch of clothes that I don't like to wear, but keep because I feel guilty about getting rid of them. Yeah, I know. It's weird. Anyway, the whole things seems simple enough, but for some reason it's taken me a forever to get all the bad blood out and realise that I can wear some things together and others I can't. Everything needs to have a place.

There have been signs of promise; that is, I have been mistaken for a European no fewer than three times this summer. This is the gold standard of dressing well in my book.

I've also changed one way I look at clothes: getting something new used to mean displacing something old. The new thing became the thing I liked to wear and the old one was relegated to the no longer worn pile. Now, I'm trying to get things that work together with everything I already have. A full supporting cast with no star. I'm giddy thinking about it.

For the first time since I set out on this path of simplified well-dressing, I think I have managed to get my wardrobe to that place. Ordered. Logical. Starting to become complete. It feels good. Damn good. Now to improve. I need a grey suit. I need probably one more pair of dark jeans. I need some more underwear. And a pink dress shirt, which I can't seem to keep to save my life. Ah. Yes. I feel better already.