This Old Thing

Susan Swartz
“Where are you taking those good black jeans,” asked my husband
as I added them to the mounting pile at the front door. They’re too
short in the waist and too belled in the bottom, I explained. And
these hiking boots kill my feet. And the mango colored shirt? Well,
we agree that was a regrettable purchase.
The occasion was a clothes swap at a friend’s backyard in
Forestville. The basics of a clothes swap are pretty simple. All
the guests bring items from their own closets that are ready to
move on. The clothes are not tattered or hopelessly outdated. You
might admire them on a friend, just not on yourself anymore … if
ever.
I don’t know the origin of the clothes swap but it may have
started in the pioneer days when women had to make do with one
dress all the way from New Jersey to California and somewhere in
western Kansas one yelled out “I’m so sick of this rag,” prompting
the woman in the next wagon to holler, “I’ll take it” and with
that, one ripped off her gray muslin and the other her yellow
calico and they swapped.
By the time everyone got to Sacramento the word had spread and
someone had a party in her backyard and all the women got silly and
tried on each other’s clothes and had something to drink and came
home with a brand new frock. When their husbands inquired, “Where
did you get that?” they could say, “This old thing?”
It’s the best kind of shopping. You are surrounded by personal
advisors who won’t hesitate to urge you to “take it, you can always
wear it with jeans.” Or to frown and say, “leave it.” It costs
nothing. You’re recycling. And you might make a score. Like I did
with my new black skirt that can go with sandals or boots and
according to observers makes me look tall. And which my friend
Maureen is ever so grateful to never wear again.
What’s left at the end of the day gets taken to the local
hospice thrift store, so in fact even though you haven’t spent any
money you do end up stimulating the economy.
You would not mistake this scene for a garden party in spite of
the Jamaican music, wine and food and women spilling out of their
underwires. On the clothesline by the garage were coats, pantsuits
and near-formal dresses suitable for fund-raisers. Along the deck
was a lineup of shoes including mother-of-the-bride wedding
sandals, never-worn running shoes and a dreamy pair of cowboy boots
that no amount of straining and pushing were going to fit a size
9.
On the blanket next to where the pole beans grow was a pile of
summer sweaters with a couple of teachers holding forth on the
California budget. Tank tops and T-shirts stretched out on a
blanket by the pool where some of us wished for the return of
shoulder pads. There wasn’t much action at the lingerie table
except for a tasty discussion on T-shirts being ideal for sleeping
but not so great for your sex life.
It’s such a smart idea I don’t know why men don’t try it. They
wouldn’t need hardly as many tables. Maybe one for khaki pants, one
for button-downs, one for those baggy shirts with pictures of
surfboards and martini glasses. Here’s an image: a bunch of men
walking around in skivvies and black socks asking, “Does plum go
with my hair color?”
Susan Swartz is an author and local journalist. You can also
read her at www.juicytomatoes.com and hear
her Another Voice commentary on KRCB-FM radio on Fridays. Email is
su***@ju***********.com.