When Your Closet Has A Life of Its Own, And Apparently An Agenda

When Your Closet Has a Life of Its Own (And Apparently, an Agenda)

Some people have wardrobes that behave.
Mine?
Mine runs around like an unsupervised toddler in a fireworks store.

I buy shirts for simple reasons:
Color. Fit. Vibe.
That’s it.
Not symbolism.
Not subtext.
Not membership in a movement I didn’t sign up for.

But somehow my shirts keep moonlighting as political statements, emotional confessions, and coded announcements to the general public.

It’s like every shirt I own is out here freelancing without my approval.

The Rainbow That Launched a Thousand Side-Eyes

I once bought a gorgeous rainbow “Be Proud” shirt because the colors were bright and joyful. I put it on feeling like a stained-glass window that learned how to walk.

Then the stares began.

People gave me the “Oh wow… okay” look.
The “Ah, we see you” look.
The “I feel like we should applaud” look.

A friend finally whispered,
“Deb… sweetheart… that’s a gay-pride shirt.”

Well great. Here I am thinking I’m dressed like a Lisa Frank folder come to life, when apparently I'm out here making cultural declarations before breakfast.

And here’s where I get spicy:

The rainbow belongs to EVERYONE.
Christians, the LGBTQ+ community, Noah, the weather, kindergarten classrooms, tie-dye enthusiasts, butterflies, Lisa Frank, and me buying groceries.

So to the conservative Christians clutching their pearls:
Relax.
You don’t get to gatekeep the sky.

If God didn’t want us to wear rainbows, He wouldn’t have slapped one across the firmament like a cosmic highlighter.

Episode Two: The Jersey That Betrayed Me

Fast-forward to today.
I bought a trendy blue-and-white jersey because it was comfy and cute and made me look like I belong in a magazine ad about iced coffee.

I put it on.
Turned in the mirror.
Loved it.

Then I saw the giant word plastered across my chest:

LOVE SICK.

Excuse me?

I am many things, but “Love Sick” is not the headline I’m choosing for 2025.
Now strangers think I’m starring in a breakup montage or writing sad poetry in a Moleskine.

Fantastic. Let the misinterpretations begin.

Meanwhile, My Two Favorite Shirts Are the Only Ones Telling the Truth

And here’s the comedy:
The shirts that should raise eyebrows never do.

1. “Sarcasm is my first language.”

This isn’t a slogan.
This is fair warning.
This is OSHA-required signage for anyone entering my conversational space.

2. “I drink bourbon and know things.”

This one is basically my TED Talk.
Print it on my tombstone.
Monogram it on my luggage.
This is the most honest piece of clothing I own… and not a single person has ever side-eyed it.

No reaction.
No confusion.
No hesitating in the grocery aisle.

Apparently rainbows are a scandal, but bourbon literacy is fine.

America is wild.

Why Are We Reading Clothing Like It's The Dead Sea Scrolls?

People decode T-shirts like they’re auditioning for CSI: Fashion Unit.

“Oh, she’s wearing that? She must be…”
No.
She must be cold and the shirt was clean.

Sometimes a shirt is just a shirt.
Sometimes a rainbow is just pretty.
Sometimes “Love Sick” is just something a designer slapped on for fun before lunch.

I don’t buy statements.
I buy things that fit and don’t make me look like a sleepy potato.

If people want to interpret it like it’s literature, that’s their cardio, not my problem.

Here’s the Thing

Let the world side-eye.
Let them whisper.
Let them decode and misinterpret and make dramatic internal monologues about my chest words.

Meanwhile—I’m wearing what feels good.

Rainbow? Love it.
Sarcasm? Fluent.
Bourbon? Blessed.
Blue jersey with teenage angst I didn’t ask for? Fine. Let it confuse everyone.

Because the moral of the story is simple:

I dress for joy, comfort, and color—not for someone else’s assumptions.

If my shirts accidentally cause confusion, scandal, or spiritual reflection in aisle seven?

Even better.

I like to keep people on their toes.