4-Week Check-Up: April 28


I have definitely felt pangs when I have seen really cute outfits for sale. It’s hard to define what they were—a little panic, a little frustration, a little sadness, I suppose. But whatever they are, the pangs have been brief and fleeting. I just remind myself that new clothing has nothing to do with me, and I move on. And then there is actually a little touch of relief.

Knowing I cannot possibly–according to the rules–buy whatever sumptuous material or smart cut or pretty detailing I admire means I don’t have to worry about it. About how to afford it, or justify it, or make it work with what I have already in my closet . . . new clothing, no matter how fabulous it might be, has nothing to do with me. Let’s channel our inner Stuart Smalley and agree, “and that’s okay.”


I have purchased two pairs of shoes for the spring and summer seasons. I think it’s interesting that despite the caveat allowing myself to buy shoes, I haven’t felt very tempted. First of all, the shoes have to be comfortable—really, truly comfortable at all times while wearing them—so that disqualifies a lot of contenders for my pocketbook. Secondly, the idea of having just a few pair of shoes that are versatile and flexible (and comfortable) feels right. Rather like wearing a black skort every day, as a matter of fact. So I have a new set of nude wedges and a pair of stacked flip-flops with a little sparkle on the strap. Both totally comfy, both totally wearable to almost everything I can conceive for my life until August. We’ll see. I may have to step it up a little for a wedding or similar, but I kind of doubt it.


In some ways, this is easier than I thought. Realizing that I can wear the exact same outfit to a funeral and a high school baseball game, feel comfortable and appropriate in both settings, and not raise a single eyebrow, is simply fascinating. And thrilling. It is as if I have come upon a great secret treasure that has been hidden behind a door I pass every day of my life.


The laundry aspect of this experiment is not my favorite. The laundry aspect of anything is never my favorite, ever, anywhere, anyhow. I hate doing laundry with a white-hot passion. I would rather scrub baseboards or pick up dog poop than do laundry. It is a perfectly Sisyphean task and I sense the gods mocking me every time I make the extra effort to iron a crease or button a shirt onto a hanger. I spend as little time in the laundry room as possible, do the minimum amount of work required, and resent every minute of it. The Skort365 experiment brings laundry to the forefront in two ways: I have to keep up on it, and I have to pay attention to the tags inside my clothes.

I began the month with seven skorts. My supportive husband gifted me with another one when he placed an order with an online discount golf-supply store. (More on the various skorts, their features and my ultimate reviews coming soon!) For any normal person, this supply should be plenty. But I get very dirty on a regular basis. My propensity to be covered in clay or paint or dirt means that I really have to keep up on the laundering of all seven (now eight!) skorts. It’s kind of a pain, but the upside is that I could wash all of them at once if I needed to, and feel like everything I own is tickety-boo. When all eight skorts are clean and folded, I feel like the possibilities are endless! With eight freshly laundered black golf skorts, I am a girl with the world on a string!

Knowing that I cannot buy any new clothes means I have to protect and take care of the ones I have. Already I have spent more time than I normally would tracking down a red scarf left behind at the theatre, plus I have donned an apron every time I have entered my studio to paint or the kitchen to cook. But it was a low moment indeed when I admitted the fact that I needed to do some hand-washing. Oh, woe is me! But the tag on that white sweater set insists I treat it with special care, and I like it and want to keep it nice, so hand-wash I did. For the first time in at least 15 years and probably many, many more. I gleefully rejected all hand-washing somewhere in middle school, when my mom extolled the benefits of the practice and made it clear that I would be expected to tend to my own delicates from there on out. I went without fussy items of clothing that needed so much personal attention, or I threw them into the machine and took my lumps when things got ruined.

Hand-washing still annoys me and feels like a gigantic waste of time. But I shall do it. Maybe there will be some zen-like side effects along the way; I’ll let you know.


It’s going swimmingly. It’s like not even a thing, most of the time. I just do it (wear a skort and comfy shoes) or don’t do it (buy new clothing) and I hardly notice any of it at all. Without a doubt I have spent less time this month worrying about what to wear. Without a doubt I feel more comfortable in my clothing and in my skin and with my self. It will come as no surprise to the rest of you, who are more evolved than I am, that people seem to treat me exactly as they always have.

Ain’t nothin’ but a thing.