Party clothes are nostalgic

I have a generally emotion-free approach to my wardrobe. Every year, when December comes around, I take a good look at my clothes, piece by piece, and anything that didn't see the light of day at least once in the previous year, finds its way into a binliner which then finds its way to my local Oxfam. I have an ulterior motive for this - my birthday is in January, and my Mother generally celebrates my birthday by taking me clothes shopping. Got to have space for all those new clothes! - so this is not a space saving process, it is more of what civil servants would call a Policy Refresh. Clear out your outdated, ill fitting numbers for your swishy look that is infinitely more suited to the more Mature You. I go through jackets, dresses, skirts and trousers, shoes and coats and assemble a pile and when rejected items leave the house the sight of the bag raises not so much of a sigh. But this year, beginning my usual clearout process, my hand falls on a hanger on which sits a beautiful black, long, fishtail party dress with diamante decoration around the heart shaped neck and the straps. I take it out. I wore this two years ago at a very special party. Why did it survive last year's clearout if I haven't worn it since then? Although a Frank Usher dress, it actually cost me 15 quid in a designer label warehouse sale so it's not the price of the thing that is making me hold on to it. A thought occurs to me and I pull back my range of dresses, not unlike the key scene in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Lo and behold I see 6 or 7 hangers of clothes that I have passed over almost instinctively in my otherwise rigorous, emotionless decluttering exercise. Party clothes. There are clothes in this section that I first wore in my late teens and haven't put on since. One of them is a truly evil garment - a onesie with knickerbocker legs, in electric blue with checks. OMG. What was I thinking. On the other hand, I remember that I wore this thing to a New Year Party at which I met some bloke...I put it back again. Next to it is a blue (blue is a uniting theme of my earlier years - I loved the colour, principally because I grew up a tomboy, so it was a symbol of rebellion to counterbalance my sisters' preferred signature colours of pink and lilac) ra ra skirt, which I remember wearing with cowboy boots to a Christmas disco in the mid eighties, where I met this guy...I put it back again. I sit on my bed and contemplate this awful range of clothes. I am not a fan of vintage. In my opinion, fashion evolves for a very good reason - we should be able to look back on the eighties with satisfying shudder, not spend the 21st century resurrecting it. Nostalgia is a retroactive emotion, that is why it is nostalgia. Resurrecting these clothes is backward facing, and I am a relentlessly forward facing kinda gal. So why can't I throw these clothes out? I think about it. Parties. There is something so very momentous about choosing a special outfit for a special occasion. Thinking about it beforehand, planning it carefully, dreaming about its accessories, getting hair and make up just right, anticipating the fun that will be had, feeling the surge of confidence that comes with putting on something spangly, swanky, clingy, loud, clashy - something that makes you feel like you stand out. Not, stand  out of the crowd, but stand out of your normal everyday self. You think I give work clothes anything like this attention? My work dress regime goes like this. I have a staple set of items, one of which I pick at 6am when the whole world is so dark I have to concentrate really hard to ensure I don't grab the wrong coloured tights, I slap my basic blusher/eyeshadow/mascara and I run, without a backward look in the mirror. Any major wardrobe malfunctions get fixed in the office loo on the 7th floor after I've bolted my porridge. Party dressing? I start my party dressing hours, sometimes days before I actually put the clothes on. And that means that the experience of those occasions gets stamped on to the outfit I wore for them. Hmm. I go to the wardrobe. Take them all out, even the fishtail dress. Put them in their own binliner. Label it "Party memories". And put the binliner back on the floor of the  wardrobe. There. More space for my next round of birthday fashion spree, without compromising on my own party heritage. Win win.