Ringside at Fizz’s Genie/Bottle bust-out [pt 1]

Having been part of Ms Fizz’s process during her relatively last-minute, fairly desperate hunt for items she could wear to her 20th high school reunion, I was understandably stoked that she was buoyed by the results. And also thrilled that she and all her former classmates made it through the swamp soirée portion of the weekend without dying from heat exhaustion. So when she called a few weeks ago and gasped, “CLOSET PURGE HELL…4 years overdue…come?” I arrived full of stamina and ruthlessness.

After all, hadn’t I just been through my own closet audit, an audit that saw many a delusion dashed despite my transformation into a fairly brutal, thrice-yearly weeder-outer?

Clearly, she needed a friend who could offer both a shoulder on which to cry and a familiarity with Tim Gunn, Trinny & Susannah, Stacy & Clinton, and Lloyd Boston. Of course I’m actually a friend with the above qualifications as well as a slight obsession with one of the most inclusive of the body-type advisors, Mr Bradley “The Science of Sexy” Bayou.

Though sadly I lack access to the aforementioned cable TV makeover shows, I’ve gleaned enough from the internet to know we needed to work as a team. I would ask incisive answers, she would supply heartfelt answers. So I jumped in:

Q: How would you describe your current shopping strategy and your wardrobe management system?”

A: “PLAN TO FAIL.”

Okay, scratch the heartfelt.

When I arrived, she’d thankfully sorted out her definite donate-or-dump items. Hours later, with the “maybes” assessed and recategorized, one thing was clear: we were seeing the price one paid for living an E Fashion Emergency lifestyle, and that price was imminent bare-assedness.

We both knew that unless she started shopping—preferably in a purposeful manner—she’d need to nab her curtains and some duct tape and channel a certain literary heroine. Or any number of reality TV contestants.

empty_hangers

I exaggerate the situation. Slightly.

Next: Part 2 of Ringside at Fizz’s Genie/Bottle bust-out, aka closet autopsying R us

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