Ugh. It’s too hot to tackle the meat of what’s left here – hanging clothes and shoes. That’s my excuse, anyway. So today I farted around with bags and purses.

I know this looks bad, but it’s inside the closet, shoved up into every nook and cranny, where the real horror lies:

That’s a real vintage* fur shoved in there haphazardly against the soles of my shoes and my polyester quilt batting. Nice. Also two never-worn Gaultier** party dresses. That sounds impressive. But I’m too embarrassed not to insist you go look at that footnote like, right now.
Purses: 70% GONE!
Wallets: 25% gone
Shopping bags: 16% gone (ugh – it should be 50%, but I’m having a weirdly difficult time getting rid of anything that says “Skadden” on it, for some reason)
Clutches: 0% gone (um…because I go to so many fancy-dress parties where I don’t need to bring my camera so often?)
Um…other…things (knitting bags, coin purses, wall hangings?, random cloth-container-type-things): 54% GONE!
Fake IDs owned by Ian, discovered in old wallets: 0% gone. Adorbs.
Oh. I just realized that this count doesn’t include the 3 burlap rice bags with handles and zippers that I thought would make great purses and never used, and which I was still unable to get rid of, so threw onto my fabrics pile and will likely still never use. Does that count as “kept” or “gone?”
Hardest thing to get rid of: A very old, extremely beat-up, plain black purse. “Yes but what if I have a black purse emergency!” I kept thinking (the only three purses I kept are bright yellow, bright red, and bright green, respectively). Then I asked myself, very seriously, what exactly a “black purse emergency” was. A funeral? A job interview…where they would judge me harshly for my red purse? I think I can safely say that I am the kind of person who will never, ever have a “black purse emergency” in my life. That’s a good thing.
Yes, but actual hardest thing to get rid of: This:

It’s not even pleather, it’s so plasticy. It’s thin, torn, scuffed, lining-challenged. It’s roughly hand-mended in a mis-matched threated. I cannot remember now whether this was something that my older sister owned and which I coveted passionately until, one magical day, in a fit of sisterly largess, she bestowed it upon me, or whether I just stole it from her closet. Either way – LOVE. Love love love, or at least, loved. I used this purse, hard, for a long time. If…anybody wants it? It’s available. I imagine that the Salvation Army won’t want it. I dunno…maybe I could cut it up and use it for something else? Oh, purse. I’m going to be HARDCORE. I am NOT going to keep it. (I am not!)***
Anyway. Anybody want these? They’re hand-sewn, and cute, and well-enough-made, but kind of failures, in that they’re too small for real use, kind of. Maybe little kids would like them? The lining on the one is just effing GREAT. But I never knew what to do with them.

Also, found this in a schwag bag I was throwing away:

I swear, never-before-worn! That’s why they were still in the bag I got them for free in, shoved into the closet. They’re a medium, and slightly annoying, gender-representation-wise, and smell like my closet, but they look comfortable! If you want them, they’re yours.
No “after” pictures today, because that closet is such an effing wreck that I’m not putting anything back into it until the rest of it gets cleared out. We’re supposed to be getting a hurricane this weekend. Maybe I’ll be rained in and willing to tackle it all in one last fell swoop.
* Incidentally – “vintage” is noted only because it makes me feel even guiltier that I’m abusing a vintage piece, not because I’m trying to defend my ownership of fur. Because…I dunno. Fur. You know. I don’t have to defend myself.
** COUGH FOR TARGET COUGH
*** I will try really hard not to.
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