The Wardrobe Crisis

The last time I made a wardrobe inventory, my dresser counts two walking shorts, three denims, two slacks dating back from college, and a pair of khaki pants that reminds me of how fat I once was. One of the baggy pants I wear features a torn slit running below the fly, and the older of the walking shorts has a missing button that is also its lock. It would require me to tighten my belt just so it won't slide down my waist.

These articles of clothing are all hand-me-downs. Except for the plaid shorts I bought last December, and the pair of black pants that for some reasons, still fit perfectly despite being in my possession for more than a decade. A pity sight, given the resources at my disposal. A Fashionista who earns less, and who buys clothes from an Ukay-ukay shop may have a wardrobe collection far more respectable than mine.

The problem lies, not with the absence of cash. I can spend a fortune for loved ones or hobbies - like video games and herbal plants - but for reasons of habit, parting money for clothing has always been a difficult undertaking. Maybe because I haven't gotten over the fact that it used to be my mother who makes garments acquisition on my behalf. I remember, when she used to spend for me and not for her grandchildren, the matriarch would go to Central Market in Dimasalang and buy clothes I barely needed.

Now anymore.

Pride may get in the way, but the message is becoming clearer. Like last Christmas, when I made a subtle plea for relatives to gift me pants instead of shirts. Still I received tops as presents. Even the Favorite Aunt didn't get the subtext. A major closet overhaul was my next move, but it was for naught. I was able to acquire walking shorts at a discount, but thinking the prices would drop before summer, I stalled and waited for malls to announce a sale. By the time the announcement came, I had set my sights on spending my money for other needs.

And the trousers shortage went unnoticed.

Until a corduroy walking shorts was torn to shreds when I was forced to wear it for my weightlifting activity. I forgot to put in my bag the gym gear I left on my bed.

Its destruction serves as a wake-up call for me to revive my plans for a wardrobe upgrade. After all, not only did I lose a piece of history (the corduroy was a Christmas gift from an ex). More importantly, the walking shorts was something I wore every week.

It used to be a favorite.

The other pants are already showing signs of wear and tear. It's just a matter of time before a ripping sound leaves a gaping slit running across the fabric. Much as I would like to stall buying new clothes for replacement once again, the horror of going through another wardrobe malfunction justifies the need to face the crisis squarely and go on a splurge.

Before I wake up with nothing left, but the jerseys to wear.