Second Hand, Second Thoughts

It is now time to list. To describe fiber content, texture, and sleeves. Spread collars, peter pan collars, tab collars, mandarin collars, nehru collars, notched collars. French cuffs, standard cuffs. Hems. Stains. It is a monstrous slouching pile of clothing, purses, boots and shoes. Time to turn these rags into riches.

I like fur. I think I like fur, anyway. A nice fox fur collar. A mink stole. Fur-lined gloves. A sable hat. I don't necessarily think fur is immoral--it's just one-sided leather, after all. Top of the food chain, folks--get used to it. I definitely don't think throwing fake blood on a woman wearing a fur coat on the street is going to make any point except to ruin the pelts of a whole bunch of little, vicious animals (it takes a lot of those little minks to make a mink coat) and rendering their snarling sacrifice completely worthless. But I have this thing about being present at a sacrifice. Knowing that one life is being exchanged for something else. So I'm learning how to make a fur. Starting with this huge sleek raccoon, fat and smug from a diet of cat food, pet rabbits and suburban garbage. A trial run of my Roadkill Project. And it is disgusting.  Disgusting when you think about it. Not the over-arching idea of fur; thinking about the reality of making a fur...

Fall is here. And I have a shitload of fall and winter stuff to photograph for eBay. Did I mention it is still boiling hot in Florida until the middle of October? So, to spend three solid days, bending down a thousand times, arranging Burberry sweaters, Michael Kors coats, Ralph Lauren cashmere dresses and boots, boots, boots--boots that I will never get to wear, boots that are too small, too big, too high-heeled, whatever. Well, it's a long, hot and sweaty, bittersweet three days. And then I have until Thanksgiving to make hay for the pony. Nobody buys second-hand clothes after Thanksgiving.

I thought I would write forever. I thought it was something I would do. And then I'd just, you know, die. Now, I'm not so sure. Funny--I don't really miss it: the fussing over mots juste , the rejections, the hopeless, doomed feeling of an ambitious novel concept that will never see a publication date or a check. Nope. I'm kind of more into the whole idea of making money. You buy this thing cheap and you sell it for more. And you keep doing that until you have enough money to buy a pony, which is to say, you never have enough money to just buy a pony, because ponies continue to eat, and they need their shoes nailed on every 6 weeks and they sometimes eat too much and you have to call the vet out in the middle of the night, which can add up to some real money. And I really just want a pony. So I'm taking nearly everything out of my closet and selling it: Laboutin shoes, Gucci boots, Lanvin dresses, Hermes scarves, Cavalli pants. Yeah, I said I wanted to keep ...