The Organizer

Marissa big earrings, big smile, high heels

I always like to say that Mexican girls are born with pierced ears and high heels.  I’ve worn  earrings since  age 2 months and my closets are filled with dozens of high heels, many in their original boxes. I’m like my mother in many ways:  If I like something I buy two and things accumulate until there is no more space. But there are so many shoes I haven’t worn in so long that they are now considered vintage, like most of my clothes. Someone recommended a professional organizer.

She came in like a whirlwind to help me organize my life. Neither snow nor freezing cold could stop her. Red cheeks, red hair, she looked chic in tweed bell bottoms and ankle-high boots.

We started with the downstairs cedar closet that held my collection of Zelda jackets, modeled on 40s and 50s fashion, that I hoped would fit me again someday. My friend Diana’s ballroom dance dresses with feathers, rhinestones, laces and miles and miles of wired chiffon and silk. Anything else with a designer label was added to the pile. We carried them four flights to my bedroom, and she laid them over my bed in a big, disorganized mess. I wondered if I was doing the right thing.

Horrified that they were hung on wire hangers, she rushed to Bed, Bath & Beyond and bought two 40-count boxes of not too expensive covered hangers. Wire hangers, she said, get the clothes out of shape and are anathema if you are taking anything to a good consignment store. Non-designer clothes were put in another pile to take to the flea market.

She looked over everything that needed to be organized—my cooking equipment (at least 2 of everything), closets and basement – though I wouldn’t let her touch my three boxes of vinyl records because she is not a specialist.

After going through my clothes, Victoria left me a list of things to buy, among them coat racks and large plastic garment bags. I rushed out to get prepared for the next day’s project.

When I took all the misshaped clothing housekeepers had washed when the label said “Dry Clean Only” I started to feel a sense of relief.  Then I set a rule for myself:  I’ll get rid of anything I haven’t worn in a year, well maybe a year and a half  which is when I gained some weight, or my body shape changed as it usually does in women my age..

Bags, baseballs caps and other hats, make-up kits and knickknacks I’d collected over the years would also go.  Scarves were next followed by jewelry. My task was over.

It was a sad moment. I photographed everything.

As you take every garment you are going to discard, you think of the times you wore it, sometimes it brings special memories that will stay with you forever.

Still, I felt liberated.