When I pulled the ordinary hanger out of my bedroom closet and stared at that simplistic dress, it was as if a fragment of my past was openly displayed before me. I clenched the fabric like some sort of pseudo time machine and was automatically taken back to its origin.

I bought that remarkably simplistic gray and navy dress soon after graduating college. I needed a suitable outfit for job interviews, and this was the one. After trying on several others, I had no doubt. It was flattering, comfortable, and very practical; everything a woman wants in a garment. I felt like a million bucks wrapped in that dress, and that was a million more than I was currently earning. In desperate need of a job, I thought, "BINGO!" when I received a call back to come in for the interview I had hoped for. I sort of thought the dress was "lucky" when I was offered the position on the spot, even without the preferred level of experience; I had absolutely none. I was certain I had found my little good luck charm when I was offered a higher starting salary than I thought possible. After that day, I rarely wore the "interview" dress. For the most part, I retired it to my closet, symbolic of my debut into the business world. In the nine and a half years of my employment with the company, I doubt it was worn more than five times. Like a classic car, I only took it out on extra special occasions.

I am a creature of habit; without fail, every six months or so I rummage through my closet and take inventory of what I have hibernating in there. I scrutinize every article of clothing and ask myself WHY I ever purchased such ugly clothes in the first place. Basically, I hate almost everything and want to get rid of the whole damn closet. Knowing I can’t replace an entire wardrobe at one given time, I do have to make decisions in terms of what stays and what goes.

Over the years of owning the "interview" dress, never once have I contemplated giving it up for donation. I routinely pass it right by without hesitation. With the numerous changes that have taken place during my life, the dress remains an unaltered constant. It gives me a sense of being grounded, a reminder of the starting point of an era. The way one treasures a trophy as a timeless momentum, I harbor the dress.

Two weeks ago, I held the adorned apparel in my hands; I wanted to know how I’d feel engulfed by it eleven years after its initial "coming out." And so, for the first time in years, I took the dress off the hanger and slipped it on. As much as I wanted to admire myself in the mirror, I didn’t. Although it still fit and undoubtedly looked as good as new, something was different. At first, I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Then I realized; I wasn’t like new. Whereas the dress signified a time in my life when I had only barely just begun, now, the path has been traveled somewhat.

I thought about the various changes brought upon by events, experiences, and maturity that are responsible for where I stand now on my journey. I suppose this article of clothing that held so much promise in my younger years lost its luster. I never imagined it would. I peeled off the dress slowly and deliberately, knowing it would never be worn again. I placed the garment back in the closet where it remains preserved as a keepsake. And like all souvenirs, it will always be a reminder of a time and place in my life that was once incredibly meaningful, but best left as a memory occupying its little niche in my wardrobe. ###