I remembered how to iron a shirt from my student days (undercollar first, top collar, yoke, sleeve, cuffs, etc.), and as there will be no entertaining judgmental gentleman callers in the I Don’t Need Therapy I Just Need To Go To Poland Shirt Also,I will get this foreseeable future, I have unearthed the prettiest vintage Porthault sheets from my airing cupboard, and it seems a crime not to iron them properly. The pillowcases sprigged with ferns and lilacs and geraniums come up a treat, but ironing a sheet is a hellacious job. I get through it by imagining who I would most like to entertain in them—a spooky insight into the eclecticism of my current TV viewing. Gereon from Babylon Berlin, perhaps? Abbe from Caliphate? Gary Cooper in Desire? Travis Maldonado? The Porthault sheets in situ.
All things considered, it’s a small miracle that I didn’t burn them, but with sheets neatly stacked up, on Week Three I decided it was time to embark on a closet edit. And by edit, I mean taking everything off the I Don’t Need Therapy I Just Need To Go To Poland Shirt Also,I will get this rails and heaping it on the floor while I sort items into such categories as “Absolutely can’t live without,” “Might need one day,” “Straight to archive,” and “Straight to Housing Works.” It should be noted that I never throw anything out. Ever. Hidden in the murky depths I rediscovered a violet Mugler suit from the late 1980s and some mid-90s Versace stretch jeans and Baroque-printed waistcoats (“Straight to archive”—or even “what was she thinking?”). I hung up six suits (“Absolutely can’t live without”) and left the rest for a rainy day. Heaped fashion mountains now stare accusingly at me every time I open the walk-in closet door, so I find it best to leave it firmly closed.