When Pruning Leads to Regret

When I lived in Ithaca, I owned an immaculate cream wool pleated skirt; it was high-waisted and draped to my knee, perfect for tea and for cocktails. It was the type of piece that I wore to class regularly, with thick tights and sturdy boots, a warm knit sweater, able to battle and brace the biting cold and that I also wore to dinner parties and late night dancing soirees. I remember, quite specifically, wearing it to a friend-hosted Thanksgiving dinner, at which I had to maneuver gracefully around a sweet, though ultimately emotionally misguided, young man who had crushed my heart, and had a few wounds on his own, from my retaliating blows. As I was moving from my last apartment back to my parent's home, temporarily, before again moving up north, in a moment of anguish and desperation, I tossed the cream pleated skirt away, along with a number of other garments that ultimately filled at least a few large black trash bags. Cleaning out my closet is always so overwhelming and daunting, but once the deed is complete, utterly satisfying and thrilling. This decision was short sighted, perhaps, as I now constantly see pleated skirts, styled in the street and in editorials, though, perhaps it is just indicative that, like all items sartorial, this trend goes around and comes around.

(image taken from Who What Wear)