Relationship with favorite sweater is too close-knit

by Beth Teitell
Tuesday, May 7, 2002

We've had more than 10 years together and I know I should be thankful. Usually you don't get that much time, and even if you do, it's not this good.

But I'm not ready to say goodbye, to know that we'll never go out on the town together again, me feeling slimmer and sexier than I have a right to feel, all because I was in the presence of my beloved.

This weekend I faced a hard truth (well, I sort of did): My signature black turtleneck sweater, the one that hits my hips just right, has passed its prime. The elasticity is gone from the neck. The body has become shiny. The sleeves are fraying.

Even as I write those words I want to sue myself for libel on the sweater's behalf, or to offer a rebuttal, to say, yes, all those things are true, but . . .

. . . but I realize that's part of my problem. I still see the sweater as it was in its youth, bouncy and energetic, clean-cut yet cool. Ralph Lauren meets SoHo. That's the message I think I'm sending when I wear it, and yet nothing could be further from the truth.

``You've got to get rid of it,'' a friend said, when I stupidly asked her to be honest. ``You do look thin, but you also look homeless.''

She sounded harsh and she knew it, but she was wrestling with a demon of her own. She had fallen in love with a new ruffled white shirt, only to have tragedy strike without warning.

Her story is a sad but familiar one: She put her dry-clean-only shirt in the laundry hamper, her husband did the wash, and, well, you know what happens next.

``I did a reverse Kubler-Ross,'' she said. ``I went to anger first, and now I'm in denial.''

The shirt is too tight - the buttons pull - but she can't give up the dream it represents, or, more accurately, represented.

``It was the first stylish thing I've bought in years,'' she said. ``I was going to wear it to all these parties.''

She probably will still wear it to parties, only now she'll be the only person there who understands how good the shirt looks. To everyone else, it will simply look too small.

If you tell someone without aging-clothing issues about your problem, as I did, he might ask why you don't simply replace the item, or buy two at a time, and keep one in a humidity-controlled room until it's time for the understudy to assume the role. If only it were that simple.

Sometimes you don't realize how important a piece of clothing will be until it's too late, and the designer's not making it anymore, or the store has run out. And buying two of everything just-in-case is prohibitively expensive.

What we really need is that cloning technology they're working on for pets. Scientists (or Clinique saleswomen) could extract DNA from a favorite sweater or a pair of shoes and voila! You could wear the ``same'' white T-shirt for the rest of your life.

It's Monday as I'm writing this column, and even though I put the sweater in the giveaway bag Sunday night, I know it won't stay there.

``What you need to do,'' my friend said, ``is to meet another sweater. And you won't be open to another sweater until you get rid of the one you have.''

Maybe, but I'm not ready to let it go. Just one more season. I promise.