Can A Closet Cleanse Change Your Life? In Lockdown, One Writer Takes The Plunge

“Blame it all on Jane Birkin,” I mumble sheepishly into my laptop. On the other end of the Zoom from my London lockdown is Vogue’s resident closet-cleansing guru, Liana Satenstein—otherwise known as the Schmatta Shrink—in New York, and she seems aghast by my stash of a dozen or so wicker basket bags. Among them is a reminder of that escape to Deià; the wedding in Morocco; a modern-classic Loewe—oh, and a versatile, hand-woven Brother Vellies clutch, for the past three summers my loyal walker to any event. “They’re all quite different bags for life,” I hear myself saying. “And I do wear them all year round.”

A recalibration of our homes, and the abundance in them, has been ushered in during isolation. For some, that’s meant clearing out the baking relics in the kitchen cupboards or addressing jammed sock drawers. Pre-pandemic, I was packing at leisure and having vague thoughts of “paring down” my closet in a way that now seems stupendously luxurious. Truthfully, I had done very little but still knew it was a rare moment to access how much I actually needed, what I could let go of—and what I planned on holding on to forever. My rhythm of donating or recycling basics and baby and gym clothes is well tuned, and certain areas of my life are edited with a Pawson-like minimalism. (My jewelry consists of two mannish watches—one stainless steel, one gold; a Cartier bangle; my engagement ring and wedding band.)

On the other hand, I’m not great at letting go of fashion. Enter Satenstein, who has a great pedigree, having recently helped streamline the closets of model Paloma Elsesser and Vogue Contributing Editor Lynn Yaeger.

As the only child of an antiques dealer, Satenstein feels destined to closet-cleanse after her formative education trailing her mother. “I went to every sale: trailer parks, flea markets, estates. I saw how easy it was for people to get rid of things and learned that at the end of the day, stuff is just stuff.” (I’m not a complete stranger to the concept. During pregnancy, I rid myself of some beloved pieces that no longer fit—but, in reality, laid down the lion’s share like a fine wine in hope of being svelte again.)

We all know in theory how liberating—both psychologically and financially—responsible wardrobe cleansing can be, but I’m cautious of letting someone else’s opinion into my closet. (Years later, I still regret being talked into letting go of a feather-hemmed Prada dress.) But I hold my breath, pull everything out, and Zoom in. “I will be taking notes,” Satenstein says.

I start with my stash of floral Erdem and polka-dot Alessandra Rich silk plissé—what I call “smart day.” But having returned to London to embark on freelance life, I’ve had a head start on WFH style and figured out that it requires a uniform. Mine: button-through shirts paired with jeans or Isabel Marant Étoile track pants. Still—surely these dresses take up precious little space on their skinny velvet hangers?

“One should suffice,” Satenstein says, deftly reminding me that my use of “smart day” seems increasingly less relevant as our current moment has further tested the limits of just whom we’re dressing for. As I unearth more, though, sartorial solecisms are splayed out across my bedroom floor. Impulse purchases—Satenstein deems them “the candy”—jump out immediately: a Cecilie Bahnsen backless blouse, a Gucci cat jumper (I am a dog person).

“Take a moment,” advises the Shrink, “and ask yourself why you are buying these items.” (The doctor, it seems, is in.) We find stubborn survivors from past culls, including two 20-year-old Ghost dresses. As I try them on, the Shrink—somewhat shockingly—thinks I should keep them: They fit well, roll down to nothing, and could make great summer day dresses. Looking at my pile of 35 jeans in a spectrum of sizes, the Shrink simply says, “Don’t live for the past or the future—live for how you are right now.”

Now in full shrink-session mode, we resolve to look through old images to ascertain why I keep clothes. Photos bounce from London to New York, alongside new selfies. A harsh message from Satenstein pings: “Any regrets—that’s just nostalgia. Like an ex-boyfriend: Just because you saw him and he looked great doesn’t mean that you need him back!”

I have a Maybe pile with a 30-day expiration deadline. My Resale and Repair piles, meanwhile, are getting larger. “They should be visible,” says the Shrink, “so you don’t forget them.” As the fashion industry at large navigates a seismic transformation, though, I’m also wondering what it all means for me. (The uncertainty of freelance life, for one, has had me pumping the brakes on spending.) Obviously, the most sustainable item in your closet is a piece you already own—a helpful maxim as I evaluate the edit.

Key lessons learned: A sparer closet not only helps you home in on your style, it helps you look at things in a more creative way. Even if not shopping the runway, I’m still inspired by it. After all: Pleasure is still meant to be at the heart of what we wear.