Withering Glance: Spring cleaning

Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, relationships, grooming and more.

RN: I don't know about you, Claude, but I'm sick of seeing about 95 percent of my winter wardrobe. And I'm 110 percent tired of wearing it.

CP: Well, don't stash your coats and sweaters too far away. It's Minnesota, and you'll need those winter clothes again about 20 minutes after Labor Day.

RN: Or next week. I remember making a late-spring road trip to Duluth a few years back. It was 80 and sunny in Mac-Groveland, yet when I hauled my shorts-and-T-shirted self out of my car at Park Point, I was greeted by a bone-chilling 47-degree air temp. The emergency winter-driving kit -- you know, candles, Hershey's bars, a black Nuptse jacket from the North Face -- was no longer in the trunk, either. That was not a pretty weekend.

CP: These winter clothes only remind us of our long months of shivering discontent. In warmer days, they hang there, large and lumpy, gathering dust, attracting moths and seeming to say, "You'll come back to me soon enough." We must reply firmly: "Off with your heads."

RN: You know how there are these giant community recycling drives, where cars line up for blocks to dump off old iMacs, televisions and video games? We should organize one for visually toxic winter clothes.

CP: I have one. It's called curbside pickup by Arc. I had a giant vintage knee-length coat with a flip-up collar, perfect for that first horribly cold and windy day in January. Gone. No regrets. Next to go? A bagful of gloves and mittens that I cling to, thinking someday I might need them for a midwinter exterior paint job. Surely there's a bad puffy coat in your closet that could go on a long walk off a short plank?

RN: Of course there is. It makes me look like a Maraschino cherry-colored Frigidaire. I bought it almost 20 years ago when I got sick of shivering at the bus stop. I gave up on Metro Transit almost a decade ago, yet that hideous-but-toasty parka is still collecting dust mites in my closet. Why can't I let go?

CP: They say that breaking up is hard to do.

RN: Maybe it's a case of lingering Lutheran thrift: Give away a perfectly good garment? I'd also feel guilty unloading that thing on some poor unsuspecting nonprofit. Perhaps I'll muster up the energy to stage a garage sale. Wait, who am I kidding? Eight months from now, that monster will still be lurking in my closet. In case you don't know, this is what a cry for help looks like.

CP: Let's apply a couple of rules that we've talked about before: If you are harboring an article of clothing that you have not seen fit to wear once in the past two years, ditch it or donate it. Further, if you are continuing to wear clothing that is well past its freshness date, you must reject or rejuvenate. Loved ones must sometimes intervene on behalf of those who live in ignorance or denial of these precepts.

RN: Bless you. That's just the permission I needed. The best thing about spring cleaning is that it opens up all kinds of closet space that needs to be filled. Which brings me to your three favorite words: Let's go shopping. And not just for us. We'll be doing it for the economy. We're givers.

Click on W.G.'s weekly podcast at www.startribune.com/withering. E-mail W.G. at witheringglance@startribune. com.