The other day, when I opened my closet and looked at all the clothes hanging in there, at the dress shirts and dress pants, the blazers and ties, the dusty shoes, it struck me that I haven’t worn ninety percent of what was there in a year. It’s like someone died, I thought, and I remembered my mother’s closet after she had died and how I had to go through her clothes, deciding on what was to be thrown out and what was to be donated.