Friday, October 7, 2011

Operation wardrobe


So I mentioned my wardrobe clean out. THE wardrobe clean out. The great wardrobe clean out of 2011. No small task. Dozens of bags later and I finally had some space to hang things in my cupboard again. So, logic dictated I should actually, you know, hang things.

Now I realise that isn't much of a leap for most people, let alone for people blessed with some level of organisational ability. However, for as long as I have been in charge of my own wardrobe my clothes have tended to live anywhere but the cupboard. The floor, a chair, the desk, another part of the floor ... you get the idea. So committing to hanging clothes in the cupboard and creating some semblance of order within said cupboard is no mean feat in my world.

Because I am not a sadist, I've long since outsourced the ironing of my clothes. Given they all come back from the ironing man beautifully hung and crease free you'd think it wouldn't be much of a stretch for me to neatly arrange them in the cupboard. However, my post-ironing hanging is patchy at best.

So task one was getting rid of all the horrible wire hangers and transferring everything to wooden hangers. And, you know, taking all the clothes out of their ironing plastic. I tackled my coats and jackets first. As it's coming into summer I relegated them to the top of the cupboard. Didn't that sound organised? So much more so than "this whole project already seemed like a stupid idea and as they were all already hanging and the smallest single category of item in my wardrobe I started with my coats and jackets so that at least I could pretend to have made significant progress when Mr Puddleduck got home to discover my wardrobe all over the bed" don't you think?

Anyway, I pressed on and here are the results. Coats and jackets all safely tucked up the top and dresses, tops, skirts and pants down the bottom.

I made an attempt to order into categories and then from dark to light within those categories. I don't suspect that orderliness will last too long, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

Afterwards, I treated myself to a trip to the ironing man to return the eighty billion wire hangers and to hand him another pile of clothes. It's like my clothes breed. I swear I don't know where they all come from.