Three Closets, Two People

Goodbye, Navid O’Nadia beige pointy stilettos. Goodbye floral flip-flops, rooster sneakers, retro Keds. Goodbye Cynthia Geist gold summer flats; I wore you well.

I cleaned out my closets today. I bagged 14 pairs of shoes, four knee-length wool skirts, three jackets, two boxy blouses, and one pair of iridescent purple pants that came out for every special occasion on the calendar my senior year of college.

That was eight years ago. The stilettos I last wore at my friend Rachel’s wedding in 2004—also the first time I wore them. They squeezed my toes together so hard my feet looked triangular at the end of the party. Why did I keep them?

I often describe my current place as having more closets than square footage. There are four of them—big, though not walk-ins. So if you count the closet space as square footage, you could say that I have never set foot in most of the apartment’s area. I actually use one as a linen closet, something that feels old-fashioned and luxurious. It’s located in the bathroom. When I moved in, my sister suggested I use it as a “library” for all my books. I considered it briefly, but worried about humidity.

The 1-bedroom has three closets. Two in the bedroom, one in the hallway. That gives me 1.5 closets of my own, or less than half of what I currently use.

“Don’t worry about throwing stuff out, it’ll all fit!” said my generous boyfriend of our big new space. I could be lazy and listen. I could buy wardrobes or build shelves. But I know me. In three years, when we move again, I’d still have those stilettos and purple pants. And by then, what I wear now will also be outdated or holey and piled on my half of our shared closet's floor.

I stuffed the load into my granny cart and wheeled it up to Goodwill. Tonight, the studio feels spacious.