At 27, laundry has become one of my biggest challenges. It’s not that I don’t like doing my wash; it’s that I hate putting it away. So, last night with great effort I managed to get 90 per cent of my wardrobe stowed away neatly on hangers.

As I sat on my bed staring at my clothing, I started to reflect on all the times I had spent using retail therapy as a way of passing the time. I was amazed by the amount of clothes I had. I mean, I’m not bragging, but it was a little sickening once I actually had it all put away.
It seemed that my closet told a story, each item had an emotion that went with it. I have grumpy clothes and sad clothes. I have insecure clothes and feelings-of-inadequacy clothes which were bought in an attempt to lift my spirits. I have happy clothes and even “I’m-feeling-hot” clothes. It was quite the ensemble created on hormonal fluctuations and mood swings.
 The satisfaction that comes from purchasing new clothes is like a short lived romance that never really leaves you satisfied after telling yourself that this will be the last purchase for a while. Instead you find yourself running to the mall in a couple days.
After talking with a classmate today about my issues with clothes, I realized that I’m not alone and that sometimes we all need reassurance in the way of a new ensemble. There’s something rejuvenating about wearing a crisp pair of Lu Lu’s or the feeling you get from stepping into a new pair of Puma’s.
As long as there’s food on the table and the lights go on, then there’s nothing wrong with hitting the mall for a healthy session of plastic purchasing.