Every once in a while, I learn about something that not only wasn’t something I knew about, but was so completely foreign to my way of thinking that I didn’t think it could have existed.  Not surprisingly, a lot of these discoveries are from spending extended periods of time with the other sex.  Girls are weird.  Beyond weird.  They are unfathomable.  And they have taught me something I wouldn’t have “known” otherwise: Clothes are disposable.

When I buy clothes, I plan on wearing them in rotation for the rest of my life or they fall off me in threads, whichever comes later.  I’m sure this is particularly galling to Christina, a fashionista of the 9th degree, as it’s highly likely the clothes I’m buying now are already several years “out of style”.   I don’t enjoy clothes shopping.  I don’t have any hopes of impressing people with my wardrobe choices.  I only buy new clothes when absolutely necessary.  As a result, a not-insignificant portion of my clothes has been with me more than 1/2 my life.

The steady stream of clothing catalogs that started arriving in the mail about the time Christina and I moved in together should have been my first clue that things were going to be a bit different.  But hey, I spend money on games and movies, she can spend money on clothes… seems like a reasonable trade-off.  Each of us will spend money on things that can provide long-lasting value for our dollar.

Or so I thought.  As I “learned”, clothing is disposable.  Nothing wrong with wearing it once and out it goes.  This is particularly acute for special events and vacations.  “Every girl needs a new dress for a wedding… you can’t expect a girl to wear a dress she wore before”.  If you plan a vacation, she of course needs new clothes as the clothes she currently has are only for the 10 mile radius we reside in.  Apparently, there are whole store brands that are designed for cheap, throwaway-able clothes.  My sister Erin takes the idea to the highest level when it comes to shoes.  She is adamant that her shoes are clean or they get thrown away.  I don’t know about you but I have never been able to wear shoes without letting them touch the so-called dirty ground at least once.  Dirt on the shoes leads to shoes in the trash.  All of this is mind-boggling to me.

When I get an invite to a wedding, there is no doubt what I’m going to wear: my suit.  My only suit.  Vacation?  My shorts.  The same shorts I’ve own for years.  I don’t care if the left leg is ripped and falling off.  My shoes only get replaced when Christina complains that she can see my toes through them.

I’m not sure if this is a local thing or not but there are suddenly these clothing collection bins in every parking lot in Northern Virginia.  These are (I’m assuming) well-intentioned, charitable organizations that take this old clothing and does who knows what with it.  More power to them and I hope they do some good but I’m more impressed with their insight into this whole disposable clothing phenomena.

At least they get it… I’m still completely dumbfounded by the whole concept.