“For rumors in the wake of such a lonely crowd.”
– “The Seventh Stranger,” Duran Duran
“Why are you selling your clothes? Mainly Duran Duran items?”
It was 2:44 a.m., and I had awakened to go to the bathroom but looked at my Facebook messages in case there was anything important going on. “Important” was such a relevant term.
I had posted a bunch of clothes for sale that afternoon. Most had been claimed, but I was hoping someone in some other time zone might come along and claim the rest.
The message caught me off-guard for a few reasons. First of all, it was from a Duranie friend I rarely heard from. Still someone I’d consider a friend, though. But I sensed a tone of worry initially, then perhaps accusation or condescension with the second question.
The fact of the matter was that I had had gastric bypass surgery two years earlier and had lost one hundred pounds in that amount of time. That was what led me to the “big clean-out.” That and a need for some extra money because, yet again, I realized that my spending had gotten out of control and the credit card debts were mounting.
Some of the items were still in my size range, but I didn’t like the way they fit. I wasn’t wearing them. Why keep them? So they went into the sale. My husband’s parents died last year – both of them in less than three months – and we had spent months driving from Tennessee to Chicago to clean out what was left behind. Clothes, books, dishes, every check they’d ever written and bill they’d ever paid since 1967… I had come home from the last trip, just the month before, determined to clean out more of my own stuff. If I could get some money for it, even better.
There were about forty items posted on Facebook. T-shirts from 80s Cruises. A University of Tennessee Vols shirt from a Battle of the Border football game against Virginia Tech in 2016. One from a favorite bookstore. One with my high school mascot on it. One from my direct sales side business. And five that pertained to Duran Duran.
Let me insert here that Duran Duran have been my favorite band since I was thirteen years old – so, for forty years. I still love their music. My license plate is DURANIE. I used to have a side business selling Duran Duran merchandise, most of it things I had accumulated over the years and didn’t want to die with. Then the government decided to start taxing things like ebay and small businesses, so I shut down shop – with a fair amount of merchandise remaining. Including three t-shirts that I put up on Facebook with my other clothes.
I’m not a math major, but 5 out of 40 – 1/8 if my fractions are correct – is not a majority of the clothes I posted today. Why should anyone care which kind or how many of any item I put up there? There were four 80s Cruise t-shirts. I’m still booked to go on the 2026 80s Cruise and can’t wait.
The shirts don’t fit me. The dresses don’t fit me. The blouses don’t fit me. The Duran Duran shirts don’t fit me.
That wasn’t saying that Duran Duran doesn’t fit me anymore. Although, truthfully, in many ways, they don’t. I still love their music. But as people, I don’t live for every detail of their lives now. I don’t hang on for every sighting or tidbit of gossip. I used to know more about their lives than I did about my friends’ – I have more balance now. I used to play a lot of what-if. I used to spend hundreds of dollars on tickets to see them in concert in the best seats possible — $500-$600 each in 2015-2018. Like thirteen times in that time period. (See my earlier problem with spending habits. I think it’s okay to sell a few Duran Duran t-shirts to pay off about $50 of that debt.)
I’m changing, as everyone does, over and over in their lives. I have vinyl records worth hundreds of dollars. If I could find buyers for them, you better believe I’d sell those, too. Not because I’m disillusioned or don’t like the band’s music now, but because I’m never going to listen to them. They’re unplayed collector’s items. Let someone else who is a collector have them and enjoy crossing them off their list. I’ve had my day in the sun. They were mine and I had the joy of saying that, the satisfaction of knowing that.
When something doesn’t fit anymore, you don’t keep it hanging around if it can benefit someone else. Not where I’m from, anyway. Why did it matter so much to this friend? I’m still asking myself that question. Maybe I’m wishing she had said something else instead, something like, “Wow, you’ve really come a long way in your weight loss journey! Good for you!” But she didn’t. It came down to five Duran Duran t-shirts. That was her focal point. Not, “It’s been a while. How are you doing?” Not, “It’s great to see you achieving your goals.” Not, “I know it must have been hard to clean out Russ’ mom and dad’s house. Congratulations on working on that for yourself.” It was like she didn’t know me at all. Or she knew some old version of me. She looked through the eyes of a stranger and made a judgment call that left me wondering where I stood because of five t-shirts that shouldn’t have mattered at all. I’m okay with that, though. I’m not the person I was two years ago. One hundred pounds ago. Two in-laws ago. Fourteen Duran Duran concerts ago. I’m older now. I’m settling into a different me. And if that causes ripples in the “fandom” that once meant so much to me, if that starts rumors or affects the way people in that world think of me, I will learn to live my life in an ordinary world. Meanwhile, a few people will enjoy some t-shirts that hold great memories. Or maybe she just wondered, and I’ve taken it all too personally. Maybe I shouldn’t read Facebook messages at 2:44 a.m. when I need to get up to go to the bathroom. That’s probably a good rule of thumb right there. (For the record, I still have five Duran Duran t-shirts in my closet that fit me. I especially wear them on the 80s Cruise, even though they’re never on the cruise.)
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