SEASON 1 F'25 STORY 2- Closet Cleanout
00:00:00 Welcome: Hey, I'm Melanie and you're listening to UNfashioned, a podcast about unravelling what no longer fits and rewearing what was always real. Today's story is called, "Closet Clean-Out". But you know, this isn't the kind of clean out where everything is folded neatly and all color coded and organized. This is kind of the messier clean out, the kind where you are knee deep in a pile of clothes, or maybe it's a pile of memories or old versions of yourself, the kind where you realize you've been holding on to things that don't fit. You know, not because they're useful, but because you are scared of who you'll be when you finally let them go. Let's open the doors and see what's inside.
00:00:56 The Avalanche : When I open my closet doors, I told myself, like I always tell myself, I'm just cleaning out the closet. It always starts just with one hanger. And this time, I pulled out this eighties vintage blouse that I wore for a few important interviews and meetings when I was working as a fashion designer in New York City. And I kept it and kept it and kept it for years. And I realized that every time I wore this particular blouse I wanted to look put together. I wanted to look capable. Even if I was falling apart on the inside. Exhausted on the inside. Even if I was overworked and underpaid. I wanted to look capable. When I pulled it off the hanger, I thought, okay, this is going to be easy. I'll just add this into my Retro Kandy inventory because the print is so cool and someone else will definitely enjoy this really cool blouse. I thought that would be easy. But the second I held it in my hands, my throat kind of got tight and I slightly got emotional because I realized I was holding a version of me that worked so damn hard to have that career and to look so polished and professional and so put together every day and just so fine. And right there, standing in front of my very own closet, twenty some years later, I started to get a little emotional. And not because of the style or the fabric or, you know, being young, but because of the weight of my life when I wore this blouse. That's the point when I realized, this really wasn't about the garment at all. It was about the memories, experiences and the reasons why I wore it. Every interview and sales conference and every moment I thought I had to look capable. It wasn't really the blouse or the fabric in my hands. It was all the versions of me who needed that disguise, all woven into the seams.
00:03:29 Why We Hold On: That's the point when I understood we don't just keep clothes because of the fabric, or we like the style, we actually keep them because of the lives that we lived in them. We hang on to garments the same way we hang on to people, to jobs and identities, because at some point they kept us warm and they made us feel safe. I stayed in my marriage. The way you stay in a sweater that itches so bad, you want to crawl out of your skin. I wore it long after it suited me, and I really cared about how it looked from the outside, more than how it felt on me from the inside. I've done that with friendships, too. Smiling through conversations that left me small. Like, you know, like the jeans that you know don't fit. But you convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, one day they're gonna fit again. And I've done that with work, with jobs that looked polished on my resume, but drained me and stripped me from all my creativity. Titles that sparkled like on the label but suffocated me from the inside. We hold on because at one time these things gave us something we needed. A sense of belonging, validation, an illusion of control. And sometimes we're afraid that if we let go of what we used to wear or who we used to be, that there won't be anything for us to step into. We're often more afraid of the emptiness that comes after letting go than the discomfort of holding on.
00:05:39 The Keep Pile: When we clean out our closet, we start by sorting things into piles. What stays, what goes, and what maybe we're not ready yet to decide on. It sounds kind of simple enough until you're standing there surrounded by the weight of your own history, because every piece of clothing holds some type of memory. Every fold hides a version of who we once were. And you know, that's what I was thinking about when I stood there surrounded by piles of clothes. It wasn't just the fabric. It was evidence of everything I'd ever clung to. The closet for me became a mirror. Each piece, an old role, a story, a past version of myself. The first pile was the keep pile. The pieces that still held meaning and still felt like me. The oversized comfy sweater I wore the night I finally decided to leave my marriage. It was thick. It was heavy, but comfy and cozy. Kind of like soft armor of a woman stepping into the unknown. The Grateful Dead t-shirt I've had like since I was, I don't know, eighteen or nineteen. It was thin and faded, had a few holes in it, but strong in its own quiet rebellion. They weren't just clothes, they were witnesses. They were my accomplice, and they were my artifacts. The keep pile became less about fashion and more about identity and gathering of what still breathes with me, what still feels like truth against my skin. Because what we keep is not always what's pretty. It's what's proven. It's the pieces that remind us of who we became while no one was watching.
00:07:59 The Let Go Pile: And then comes the harder part, the let go pile. The pieces that once made me feel powerful or beautiful or enough, but now kind of hang heavy like borrowed skin. It's strange how fabric can hold emotion. I'd pick something up and feel the tightness in my throat. The ghost of who I was stitched into every seam. The blouse that said I'm fine. The heels that said be impressive. The dress that screamed don't take up too much space. Each piece deserved a moment, a deep breath and a goodbye. I began to remember who I was when I needed them, and thank her for surviving in the only way she knew how. Because that version of me, the one who tried too hard, who smiled through all the silence and who played it small to be loved. She kept me alive. And she kept my story going. But you know she doesn't fit anymore. So I fold those memories carefully and I whisper, thank you, but I don't need you anymore. And in that moment, I realized that letting go is not the opposite of appreciation. It's the purest form of it. It's saying, I see you, I honor you. You brought me this far. But it's also saying, I'm ready to walk without you now. The let go pile isn't a trash heap. It's a sacred burial and a quiet celebration. It's the gentle thank you to the lessons stitched into every thread, because everything I release also reminds me of how far I've come and who I am finally becoming.
00:10:15 The Ritual of Release: Letting go isn't just about putting something in a donation bag. It's about what happens in that moment. You decide this piece no longer belongs to you. For me, that moment became kind of a ritual. Sometimes it was small and sometimes it was a little dramatic, but it was always necessary. I'd hold the piece in my hands and the story of them in my mind. And I'd remember the version of me who wore it, who needed it, and who clung to it. And I'd say thank you. And then I'd release it and gently fold it and place it in a bag for someone else to find.
00:11:03 The Ritual of Release: The more I think about it, maybe this is why I've always loved vintage clothing and accessories. Because vintage is a release. It's proof that beautiful things can live many lives. Each piece carries an imprint of someone before us, like their perfume, their heartbreak, their laughter, and even their evolution. And I think I fell in love with that idea that something can be worn, it can be let go and then rediscovered and loved all over again. That's what this whole process feels like. Like, I'm passing parts of my old life to the next version of me. Not erasing where I came from, but honoring it. Because here's the truth release isn't rejection. It's love. It's gratitude. Followed by goodbye. And when we practice this ritual of release, it's not really about the clothes at all. It's about the memory. It's about the connection. It's about clearing space for whatever is coming next.
00:12:30 Listener Refection: Now, before you move on with your day, let's pause for a moment and take a breath. Think about something in your life that's been hanging there a little too long. Something in your closet that maybe you've outgrown but still can't quite bring yourself to release. Maybe it's not clothing. Maybe it's a habit, or a role, or a way of being that once kept you safe. Hold it in your mind and in your hands if it's something real. See it. Remember what it gave you. Now say thank you. Thank you for who it allowed you to be and who it helped you become. And when you're ready, even just in your imagination. Set it down. Let it rest and let it go. Because letting go doesn't mean forgetting. It means loving something enough to set it free. You could give it to someone else or maybe you burn it and let go of all the stories it carried. Or maybe you simply whisper to yourself, I'm ready to make space for what is next. That's the beauty of it all. It's not an ending. It's only the beginning of returning to yourself.
00:14:04 Closing: I'm Melanie, and this is UNfashioned. If you're sitting among your own piles right now, it's okay. You know, release takes time. It's not all about tossing things away. It's about learning what still holds truth. So be gentle and keep what feels good. Let the rest return to the world. One small piece at a time. Until next time. Keep softening, keep unraveling. And trust that what's meant for you will never need to be forced to fit.