• Kimberly Hinds

OMG Danny Devito, I Love Your Work!

Marie Kondu‘s simple core philosophy is to throw out every item in your house that does not fill you with joy when you pick it up. I am not quite sure if she intended for us to chuck out the ironing board, mop, vacuum cleaner and both children, so let’s just focus on decluttering your wardrobe.


STEP ONE: Remove all ill-fitting clothes


One of the issues of being of being of “average” height is that clothes are not designed for the “average” person. They are made to fit the tallest height possible in your size range. (This is not helpful when you are basically at eye level with a doorknob.) As a rule, the more expensive and designer an item, the taller the range, due to the thinner the woman. Less Dolce and Gabbana. More Dotti and Glassons.


You don’t need to question whether your clothes are thrilling you by their very touch, you can simply look at how badly they fit. Whether you bin them, sell them on eBay or gift them to a more fortunately shaped friend, is irrelevant. Just accept it, they look terrible on you and are cluttering your house and mind.


I spent a large proportion of my life believing that, while I wasn’t Amazonian tall, I was also “not short”. From the age of 6, I was actually above average in height and graced the back row of the yearly class photos right up until my first year of high school. From then on I was downgraded (one row = per year) until my final year, where I was actually seated crouched on my knees. This photographic evidence of my slide from great to small never resonated however. I was tall in primary school and that was that. I suppose it was also at Winchester Primary that my maturity levels (childish) plateaued, tastes in fashion (clothes with cats on them – childish) formed, and work ethic (childish) cemented. Emotionally and physically stunted.


This self fulfilling delusion continued until the year 2001 and ended with a fateful visit to Madame Tussauds Wax Museum in London.


If you have ever seen someone from TV or the movies in real life you will be shocked at how tiny they actually are. Unlike supermodels, who are always taller and thinner than you could ever imagine, actors and actresses are usually down right diminutive. At my first visit to Ms Tussaud’s, I was in a dizzying spin, running from teeny wax model celebrity to the next, cackling away at how much I towered over each of them. I was even taller than the seemingly giant Morgan Freeman! In hindsight, I think it was actually Nelson Mandela, but who cares? I was young, carefree and taller than famous people. Invincible!


The fun stopped when I encountered the smallest person in the collection – Joan Rivers, pathetically short, standing in front of a floor length mirror. As I bounded over to her, my reflection revealed, unequivocally, that we were exactly the same height… and I felt the harsh whip of reality. Ms Rivers and I were pathetically short. We were shorter than a whole museum of tiny famous people.


I had to leave the place immediately, home to burn the clothes I had been wearing and wipe the ghastly moment from my memory. Unfortunately, the exit of the London museum is via an incredibly spooky House of Horrors manned by overzealous acting students dressed in bloodied rags hiding behind walls in the dark who reach out to grab you as you walk through. I left the museum sweating, reeling, and 6 inches shorter.


(My top Google search today: how to keep warm when you don’t have any money.)


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