The Secret Liberation of Clothes

The 80s suit had already been put all the way to the back of the closet, and that wasn’t a good sign.
Soon it would disappear without a trace like all the others had done before.
One day it would happen; it already saw that ridiculously big bag lying there.
It had to convince the others to participate. They only had that little chance left.

They had to join forces.

But the others still cherished the hope that their days were not counted yet - just because they saw daylight for a few minutes now and then, only to disappear in the depth of the closet again immediately. There wasn’t even enough room for all of them anymore. A lot of them already had a hard time breathing, they lay jammed and full of wrinkles and a lot of them felt robbed of their dignity.
The dress with the black and white pattern, that had always been a little too wide and shapeless, was convinced fast. It took a deep breath, tore open its seams and fell apart piece by piece. Absolute freedom. That’s how it felt before anyone thought its pieces had to be put together in this certain way. (Now its back piece would ally itself with the sleeves of this incredibly ugly leopard print blouse. Together with the checkered collar of the old terrycloth shirt and the fringes of the South American scarf, it felt strong enough to meet the bewildered looks.) It was ready.
The saggy cardigan next to it hadn’t been worn for months or rather years and it so longed for body contact. All that was left was the chance to improve its image by the help of the fancy evening dress to finally get some fresh air again. It took courage and shyly introduced itself.
Equally dissatisfied, the lace blouse that had become far too girly by now slid off the hanger without a sound and got ready to say “Hello” to the rugged leather coat and the old woolen sweater.
A moment after, the unbelievably unfavorable hipster jeans plucked up courage and slowly sneaked to the polyester dress with the tasteless pattern to propose cooperation.
„Now or never“, thought the plaid skirt that had become too tight, and it decided to fight its conservative image with the fringe vest’s and the Scandinavian designer dresses help.
The T-Shirt with the “funny slogan” saw it all. It had felt embarrassed by its message for some time now. It wanted to hide the letters under other pieces of fabric, it wanted to cut out the shameful words and forget them forever.
Meanwhile, the mass-produced T-Shirt from Bangladesh hoped to improve its Karma with the aid of the Hippie crochet scarf.
The grey blazer was fed up with its own dreariness and classic look; it took sleeve after sleeve off the softly cushioned coat hanger and walked towards a new life full of color, shapes and patterns.
Speechless, the camelhair winter coat couldn’t believe its own eyes. It liked itself the way it was and it thought changing fashions were silly and perfect fits were overrated. It liked the peace and quiet in the closet. But it was too late. The jeans shirt and the feather boa had already secretly hung themselves against it and gnawed open the carefully closed seams.

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