The less I have to think, work, or care, the more content I am, content being the desired endgame. I’ve become a downsizing fool, always living at the edge of when in doubt, throw it out. I’ve reached the apex of aging where my budget is blessedly balanced and I care more about my character than the contents of my closet. I’m in that sweet spot in life where practicality takes precedence over perfection, and function is more important than form.
Each day, I wake up, check my iphone, and, barring any global catastrophes or familial fiascoes, I check The Weather app. A New England native, I recognize that my initial inquiry into the day’s weather may prove to be the most important task I complete all day… that anything from sun to snow can occur between dusk and dawn… that an East Coast forecast often contains words like Nor’easter, Snowmagedon, and Bombcyclone… and that New England weather can be inconsistent, unpredictable, and often, downright unpleasant.
I also recognize that my over-60, estrogen deficient body is ever-changing… that although my weight is exactly the same as it was in high school, my individual thighs are now larger than my waist… and that my ever-shifting shape needs a wardrobe makeover on a regular basis.
One would think that a regionally challenged New Englander with a shape-shifting shaft would require a massive closet… something that could effectively accommodate climate change as well as a plethora of possible physical permutations. But, maybe not.
With a personal policy that dictates clothes unworn during the prior year be donated, I thin the hanger-herd regularly and get by with a very small and unimpressive turn-of-the-century closet in my turn-of-the-century home; no walking-in, no breathable shelving, no individual shoe compartments… not even a light. With a smidgen of creative assembly, I can generally concoct a comely costume in just a few moments, thereby satisfying my excessive inner need for ease.
My sensible wardrobe is made just that much more sensible by relying on a well-honed rack of reliable uniforms, my belief being that there’s no need to split the atom each and every day. I regularly default to black-on-black at the gym (a reliable means of hiding all dimples, divots and dents), jeans and tees for daytime, and sweats and slippers after supper.
Though somewhat (strictly) set in stone, each clothing category has a host of variations reflecting comfort, color, quality, and coolness. Despite my minimalist approach to fashion, I still care. But, I can find amazing gym wear at both Target and Lululemon. And, between Nordstrom and Gap, I can cover most daytime doings in jeans. ( Sweats and slippers have no expiration date… no constraints… no boundaries… the older the better)
To be sure, the uniform lifestyle is not one-size-fits-all. It’s best suited for those seeking the simpler side of living… for those, like myself, who divide their days into three neat sections; morning, daytime, and evening… for those who choose ease over effort, consistency over chaos, predictable over pandemonium… for those who revel in routine.
I assume most fashionistas and influencers take great pride in, and fully enjoy, walking into their cavernous closets and standing in front of a cornucopia of colorful tactile inspired textiles. They likely have an innate sense of what-goes-with-what and can mix and match their way to wardrobe wonderment. These are the folks who call their ensembles outfitsinstead of uniforms… those who refuse to adhere to less is more… those who typically look awesome at any time of day, doing any type of activity.
I love looking at these people, but I have no personal aspirations to be one; being average in attire is enough for me, often earning comments like “Y ou look great!,” effectively elevating my ego until I hear the now almost anticipated ending , “…. for your age.”
With life’s ultimate end game now visible upon the impending horizon, I’ll maintain my uncluttered closet and adhere to the axiom, less is (almost always ) more.