Men are like bags. Eye candy. I get that rush of wanting when I see a new one. I simply MUST have
him it. Each one has it's own personality, it's own function, it's own story. I always surprise myself at how much I've amassed and moan that I didn't even get to take all of them out for a spin. I could go crazy for a while, obsessing over that new man bag. What I really hated the most, however, was that with every acquisition, I start to build my life wardrobe around him it. All that constant fussing, the constant update; if He it could be perfect for this party I'll be attending, or if it's the right shade of pink that will go well this new pair of Louboutins I got online (which has been patiently waiting for its perfect match). They are useful for a while, and after a short infatuation with it, they are carefully wrapped and tucked away to my bag closet, and will patiently wait to be remembered. The bag has finally faded into obscurity.
And so, every couple of weeks or so, I unearth everything from my closet and review my bag collection. Every time I get a new one, I have to rid of an old one to make room. I can only keep just as many (or at least what my
heart closet allows me to). My rule is to let go of the bag that hasn't been used for two months. That must mean I don't even remember having it. Nor obsess thinking the perfect outfit with it when I use it the next day. No more planning weddings outfits.
And this past few weeks, I have been purging like crazy, ridding myself of unnecessary
feelings clutter. There are too many of these men bags that I kept flitting here and there but never really learned to appreciate the beauty and function of each one of them. And so, I decided on which ones to keep. It was a very long and painful process; I lovingly caressed the satin linings and examined closely the monogrammed leather, thoroughly evaluating and justifying if I should keep him it, not wanting to regret that should the right dress, heels or occasion come, he's it's no longer there to complete me the ensemble.
Needless to say, it hurt. I've invested so much on these
men bags that I'm not even sure if I'm getting what they're worth, or at least claim to be. I've been in a buying frenzy for the past year, only to realise that I don't even know what I want in the first place. Some of them are so intricate and complicated pretty to look at that I didn't even want to use it, thinking that I didn't have the right dress or heels for it yet. In my insecurity inadequacy, they have become useless.
But it had to be done. It's all about me now and liberating myself from the unnecessary. I've never really focused on what I want and what I really needed that I thought I needed every
man bag that came my way. I always reasoned that I will eventually use them at some point. You know, the just-in-case's. But it turned out to be a mere quick fix, a quick high to fill that void called emptiness closet space.
And I've never felt so light. All that excess baggage just had to go.
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