I fell into the deceiving trap of consumerism. Instead of spending my Thanksgiving weekend unwinding after a stressful stretch at school, my mother woke me up at eight o’clock to begin our shopping extravaganza. I made the mistake of telling my parents about the trending styles of furry jackets and corduroy skirts, and they became absolutely obsessed with vamping up my look.
It doesn’t help that I’m the only girl in my entire extended family, but my parents and I went a little haywire with the sweaters and skirts. How can you resist a 75% off sale?? In my defense against me sounding like a spoiled brat, I look exactly the same as I did in sixth grade, so I ‘ve been wearing the same shirts since freshman year of high school. It was time for a change. Beyond that, it gave me an excuse to meticulously sort through my closet.
I have a hard time getting rid of clothing because every shirt I own has a specific memory attached to it, and for some reason, in my brain, if I let go of the shirt, then the memory goes with it. This past Thanksgiving break, however, I finally mustered up the courage to bag up an assortment of pants with holes in them and shirts with permanent stains. Normally, I would secretly dig through the garbage bag and hang a shirt right back up, but I didn’t this time around.
It wouldn’t be accurate or fair for me to dress the same way I’ve been dressing for years. I realized through my black Friday mayhem that with my gained maturity, I’m more confident to wear clothes that portray who I am in ways that I would be too afraid to express in high school. My parents kick-started this by forcing me to buy boots that I originally claimed as too bold and skirts as too long. If anything, black Friday ended up being great because in its own cliche way it helped me realize that I’ve completely stopped caring what people think about what I wear and how I portray myself, an unbelievably freeing feeling.