Hell hath no fury like a woman who can’t find anything to wear. A specific rage I’ve felt most mornings for years. More maddeningly, I have nobody to blame but myself. I’ve been a hoarder since my early teens, and this, combined with my lax approach to organising and an impressive amount of separation anxiety, has led me here. Pandemonium.
With heaps of discarded clothes decorating my floor. I have ended up wearing just two to three outfits which remain on my rail on rotation, come work or play. Some of the floordrobe is loved, but ultimately lost to the chaos. Other items I can’t even remember liking in the first place. Meanwhile, there’s uncategorised ‘storage’ in my closet (think car boot sale carnage), under the bed (scared to look) and in bags (unopened since moving in 2021).
