It's not that I love clothes so much. In fact, I stopped loving them when the scale crept jumped beyond 145 pounds. Getting the apartment ready for the sublet has forced me to look at everything: the shirts that drifted to the bottom of the drawer because I was a few pounds heavier the last time I wore them and I didn't like that so I never tried them again; the stuff I loved but actually outgrew; the fancier stuff I wore once then forgot about and thought I had to buy another closet outfit for that next rare occasion; the stuff I got bored with because it's 20 years old and won't wear out.
I'm really shocked at how much stuff I have. And I always buy the same thing; I'm certainly not a fashionista. I don't want to count how many brown and black slacks I have. Shirts? I have red, white, black, purple and a few blue. They all look alike and I keep buying more of the same. I wanted to get more beige, but that's not this year's color. I never buy green. I had olive skin when I was younger and it made me look even greener. My skin color has faded along with my hair, but I still don't want to wear green.
I have sorted the stuff into plastic bags: stuff for Goodwill; weight-related stuff (how's that for political correctness) that I might be able to wear when I return from Asia–I lost weight on the last trip, maybe I will lose even more; stuff I may want to wear in the next six months–that's the toughest category and really includes what I want to pack for trips and what else I might want. I find it very hard to select winter clothes when it's 80 degrees out. Today is cooler; maybe I'll get it all done. And NO MORE SHOPPING.