The Wardrobe Experiment

I cannot lament having too many clothes. I am not a shopaholic or even a very good sport shopper. But I have enough to irritate me when I can't find what I'm looking for as I dig through piles of unworn stuff. I tend to wear favorites to death and then even a bit longer. I also gravitate toward things that are classically chic and then jazz them up with less-expensive trendy pieces. I think it is the formerly of-the-moment items and perhaps those unsuccessful 'maybe I should give this a try' pieces that are the culprits. Those are the ones that pile up and get in the way, remaining largely unworn, yet taking up valuable real estate in the closet.

Speaking of closets, I am currently living without an actual closet at the moment. I know, I know, I can hear you gasping in horror from across the cyber-universe. Let me explain. For some time now we have lived in our children's playroom while the master suite is slowly, almost painfully renovated. Don't get me wrong, the playroom is not such a bad place to be. It's 400 square feet, which is about the same size as many a city girl's apartment. It has a closet, but it is also the familial linen cupboard, as well as storage room to art supplies, games, legos, photo albums and other things you might expect to find in a playroom.

So in the midst of all that other stuff, our clothes are jammed in there too. It's an undignified jumble of paintbrushes, sweaters, boardgames and cameras. Sometimes I lay in bed and fantasize about having the perfect French antique armoire of my very own. Everything would fit and each morning I would throw open its doors and the perfect, effortlessly chic fashion combination would immediately present itself. This is how I came up with my idea for The Wardrobe Experiment. I am going to lug empty Rubbermaid totes upstairs to the playroom and ruthlessly pare down my clothing.  Anything unworn in the last year will be stored, sealed and dated in the totes. If I miss an item I have the freedom to go and dig it out, but if it remains forgotten, all will be donated by the time the New Dressing Room is unveiled.

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 I have rarely regretted giving away clothing. I am kind of an out with the old and in with the new kind of gal. To a fault, really. I know which pieces are part of my fashion uniform. Jeans are a practical year-round choice for our climate. I do like crisp and white or cute and cropped in the summer though. I wear cardigans and pashminas all year round, flowy boho blouses in summer, cozy chunky sweaters in winter. There's a few sparkly pieces for going out and my work clothes which are, thankfully, classic black suiting. Throw in some yoga gear and that is pretty much me.

After this, all I will have left to do is sit back, relax and wait for our new closet to take shape. While it won't be Carrie and Big's Heaven on Fifth walk-in, it will be my own take on classic and glamorous with just a hint of boho and country girl to keep it authentic.

Carrie and Big's Heaven on Fifth walk-in. 

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Ready for Barefoot Bluejean Nights

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As I have mentioned, I grew up in the country. I've known for a while that I would be 'going home' for a family reunion this July. At first I was a bit miffed at this forced holiday. We could have gone, you know, anywhere else for our summer vacation. But now, as the time draws near, I am getting more and more excited to show my children where I grew up. That would be a picturesque white farmhouse with green shutters on a rolling hill, a big red barn and, of course a treehouse. It was the real deal. We've just returned from an epic Californian theme park and Palm Springs adventure with our kids, so perhaps some grounding is in order.

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My heart is bursting at the thought of spending time with my beloved grandparents, catching up and eating lots of good old-fashioned prairie suppers with aunts, uncles, cousins and brand new baby second cousins, but more than anything, I am looking forward to the stunningly beautiful landscape. Vivid blue skies streaked with pure white clouds and enormous blazing summer sun and best of all, the big, fat moon overhead after a sunset so breathtaking it could be set to a symphony. I can't wait to sip wine with my best friend and laugh until we cry while our husbands get to know each other and our kids play together. I am excited to get my shiny new city car full of country dust driving down dirt roads, singing country songs at the top of our lungs.

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Maybe I have romanticized my farmgirl upbringing, but I don't give a damn. Isn't it a bit like focusing on the positive? I can retrace every good memory of my childhood down to the last detail. I climbed trees and picked wildflowers as a little girl, then spent summer Saturday nights at tailgate parties basking in the glow of a blazing bonfire, trying to stay out of trouble, but not doing a very good job. 

It was a good way to grow up. I may be a West Coast girl now, but those Prairie roots run deep and they will always be a part of me. Mostly the part that likes cowboy boots and sundresses; men who can fix anything; driving around, but going nowhere and most of all wide, open spaces and hearts.

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How does your garden grow?

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I can't call myself a gardener. Not really. Yet I find myself digging in the dirt, pulling weeds, puzzling over plantings and anticipating what is next to bloom. I suppose I am gardening, actually. But the difference between myself and the real gardeners is that I don't know what the hell I am doing most of the time. I just know I like it it. I pop in my earbuds (to drown out the sounds of my neighbors mowers, blowers and pressure washers) and put on my gardening gloves and drop to my knees. Suddenly two hours have gone by and I am strangely relaxed despite the backbreaking work I may have just done. I may not be a gardener yet, but I am so on to their dirty little secret. Gardening connects us to the Earth, which is a primal experience, giving us a bit of much needed balance. And that is something worth wrecking your manicure for. Pure bliss.