Last week, I took bags of clothes to the Catholic Charities for Immigrants. The drop off point is a big old, two story house next door to the Pittsford Catholic Church. It has a covered porch and I sneak up to the front door, drop the bags on the porch and run. I don't know why. They won't call the cops or yell at me for trespassing. After all, they are there for the express purpose of making that connection between "rich, white mostly old people who have way too much and migrant workers or recent immigrants - probably of color - who have little more than the clothes on their backs."
And it isn't as though I leave them bad stuff. Really...some of it's Chip's.
The following day, I took more than a dozen garments to the consignment shop. Panache finally re-opened. They are very careful. People must wear masks -- only 4 in the store at one time. Consignees must have an appointment. They only accept "good labels" and everything must be cleaned, pressed and on hangers. If your garment is sold, you get 40% of the loot. They set prices -- and then mark them down for special 'sales'. (Sometimes, I take things to Lu's Back Door. The rules there are the same except they ask that styles be no more than 3 years old. I don't take much to Lu's Back Door.)
I feel a little guilty about this whole deal. Why shouldn't immigrants have the $200 Eileen Fisher pants? How come the charity clothes get stuffed into plastic bags and not on hangers -- freshly pressed?
Being good is hard these days. Political minefields are everywhere.
A news story last week said the sale of jeans are way down. Instead, people are buying soft, slouchy, elastic waist, comfy clothes -- a clothing version of comfort food -- mac and cheese, meat loaf and mashed potatoes. I'm thinking there's a direct connection. I grew up believing that jeans were the comfy clothes. What happened? Another minefield.
Once, while on vacation, I bought a fancy jacket. You do things like that while on vacation. The jacket was wool embellished with appliqued bits to look like tree branches running up the sleeves. Individual petals sown around the neck formed the collar. The price was out of my comfort zone but I imagined how great it would be to wear this piece of art. I wore it to a special Christmas party. Across the room (did you guess?), there she was -- a woman wearing the same jacket.
Several years later, I took the jacket to Lu's. Nobody even asked me how old it was. I hope I see it again someday. Maybe at a fancy Christmas party. Will we ever get to go to those again?
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