They’re not difficult to find nowadays.

But I’ve noticed something. The way I feel when I wear or use the item that isn’t real is completely different. Why is that?

Right now I have a piece of jewelry that looks similar to one from a much higher-end brand. I have four handbags. Two pairs of shoes.

But in clothing, none.

Oops, wrong, I have a pair of shorts.

I spotted these fabulous shorts from Frankie Shop on Instagram and wanted them so badly, but they were all sold out. My impatience sent me straight to reverse image search, where I found a dupe on Amazon for a fraction of the price.

Of course I ordered them.

I wore them a couple times and tried to make them work the same way the real ones would have, but they felt inferior. The quality just wasn’t there. They were fine, but I realize my taste isn’t really ok with fine.

Then I received an email from Frankie Shop: the shorts were back in stock!

I ordered them.

I’m obsessed with them and would probably wear them every day if I could.

So now I have the shorts I actually wanted - and the dupe.

And while I did wear the dupe a few times, it cost me money too. Instead of saving money, I spent more money and ended up owning two things instead of the one thing I really wanted.

That’s the true cost of the dupe.

And yet, apparently I haven’t completely learned my lesson.

Right now I’m going back and forth about a pair of shoes I purchased because I knew the real thing was unattainable. When I wear them, I feel a little bit like I have a secret I don’t want people to know.

I’ve thought of getting rid of them for that reason, but I am struggling.

They are such amazing shoes.

Does it matter that they aren’t real?

My son has a distinct opinion about this. He says copying a designer isn’t ok and he won’t participate in wearing a dupe. He has tremendous respect for creators and designers and would rather support the person who came up with the idea than the company that copied it.

I agree with him.

And yet, sometimes my desire outweighs my ethics.

That’s uncomfortable to admit.

And maybe that discomfort is telling me something.

What exactly am I trying to satisfy when I buy the dupe?

Is it the unique design? The quality? The label? The status? The feeling? Or am I trying to temporarily become the woman I imagine wearing the original?

Maybe the solution isn’t finding a better dupe. Maybe I need to get better at waiting.

So I’m working on it.

I’m placing items in my shopping cart and walking away. I’m making a list of items I want and letting it sit there without immediately fulfilling it. If I still want those things by Christmas, I’ll put them on my wish list.

But something interesting is happening.

The want often disappears surprisingly quickly.

And then, of course, another item comes along to take its place.

Which has me wondering if the thing I’m chasing isn’t really the handbag, the shoes or the shorts at all.

Maybe I just get excited about something new.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Maybe I just don’t have to buy it.

I used to think it was just a sweet little saying.

After two months in Laguna Beach, I think it means something much deeper.

When we moved from Arizona this summer, we finally had the freedom to ask ourselves a question we hadn’t asked in years:

“If we could live anywhere, where would we choose?”

We’ve spent the last two months settling into our new life. Morning walks on the beach. Tide pools. Sea glass. Doggy friends for Butler.

And yet…

I’ve also found myself missing something I didn’t expect.

Not Arizona.

The people who made me feel at home.

Our children are building lives in Arizona, New York and Kansas. My parents and brother are in South Dakota. The older I get, the more I realize the people I love are spread across a map instead of gathered around one table.

This weekend we headed back to Arizona to look at homes.

At first it felt like we were changing our minds.

But somewhere between the drive and the floor plans, I realized we weren’t trying to move backward.

We’re trying to move closer.

Closer to family.

Closer to the people who have shaped our lives.

Maybe that’s what home has always been.

Not the prettiest view.

Not the perfect house.

Not even the perfect city.

Just the place that makes it easiest to be with the people you love.

The waves have settled down since then making it more peaceful and calm.

We tried the very popular Truly Pizza, loved it and booked another reservation while we were there!

I made my very first baked oreo cheesecake and it was a hit! Thanks to my daughter, Amanda for sharing the recipe.

We loaded up our Soul E-bikes and went for a ride at Crystal Cove State Park making a stop to try Shake Shack and we can’t wait to go back!

After some fierce waves changing the landscape of the sand, things have calmed and the sand is more consistent. The huge shifts did bring in some great finds of sea glass and shells.

Going to my closet was exciting. I always knew what to reach for, and somehow the right outfit made me feel ready to take on the day.

Arizona was easy. The sun showed up every morning, and so did I. Lightweight dresses, sandals, sunglasses. I didn’t have to think very hard.

Then we moved to Laguna Beach, where the weather has a personality of its own.

Some mornings a sweatshirt is too much. By the time I change into a t-shirt, I’m cold again. By afternoon, I’m wondering why I wore sleeves. By evening, I’m searching for a sweater again.

It took me a few weeks to realize I wasn’t just learning how to dress for a different climate.

I was learning how to dress for a different life.

As it turns out, learning how to dress has been one small part of starting over.

We’re looking for a new vet. I need a new place for a blood draw. Cory needs a dentist. We’ve had to find a grocery store, a movie theatre, and the restaurants that will eventually become “our places.”

Some days it feels like an adventure.

Other days it feels like work.

I’ve worn jeans on days that turned out to be perfect for shorts. I’ve layered up for a cool beach morning only to find myself wishing I’d worn a tank by afternoon.

The gray mornings have surprised me more than I expected. I hadn’t realized how much I relied on waking up to sunshine.

The weather keeps reminding me that I’m still getting to know this place.

In Arizona, getting dressed was almost automatic because I already knew my life.

I knew where we’d eat dinner.

I knew which roads I’d drive.

I knew which restaurants required dressing up and which ones didn’t.

I knew the rhythm of my days.

In Laguna, I’m still discovering the rhythm.

Every morning I stand in front of my closet a little longer than I used to. Not because I don’t have anything to wear, but because I’m still learning the rhythm of this place.

Maybe that’s what moving really is.

You don’t just unpack your boxes.

You figure it out as you go.

One beach walk.

One trolley ride.

One favorite restaurant.

One outfit.

I’m beginning to realize that dressing for a new life has very little to do with clothes.

It has everything to do with feeling at home in a place that still feels new.

And maybe that’s okay.

Some things—like style, home, and belonging—aren't meant to be figured out all at once.

Tomorrow morning I'll stand in front of my closet again, and maybe I'll know this place just a little better than I did today.

Cory and I spotted dolphins feeding really close to shore.

We attended our first Pageant of the Masters. Wow!

We ate at Carmelitas and loved it.

We enjoyed a spa day at The Ranch.

I still know how to bring the hummingbirds to my feeder, finally getting two filled up and out on the deck.

We tried Cinepolis and I had my first ever cheddar & cheetos popcorn!

I also brought far more than I needed.

Since arriving, I’ve been editing my closet one piece at a time. In the spaces between beach walks and exploring this beautiful coastal town, I’ve been writing and listing my clothes on Poshmark.

Could I have stuffed everything into trash bags and driven it to Goodwill?

Of course.

But these pieces have value. They were carefully chosen, worn, loved, and woven into different seasons of my life. For now, my little business is giving them the opportunity to become part of someone else’s story.

Today, I pulled out my leopard duster.

A piece that traveled with me to New York, Carmel, and countless dinners, celebrations, and adventures.

I hesitated.

Not because I still wore it, but because I believed I was letting go of the memories attached to it.

Then something shifted.

It wasn’t the leopard duster I wanted to keep.

It was the story.

The photographs.
The journal entries.
The laughter.
The trips.
The woman I was when I wore it.

I realized those memories weren’t hanging on the hanger.

They were already safely tucked away inside me.

Suddenly, letting go felt lighter.

My rolling rack is still overflowing, but now every item that sells becomes something new.

One Louis Vuitton bag became tickets to New York Fashion Week, where my husband, my son, and I will make memories that will last far longer than any handbag ever could.

I’ve started thinking differently about everything I own.

I used to feel anxious because I owned too much.

Now I feel excited because every sale makes room for another experience.

My son has already told me he wants my travel journals someday.

He has never asked for my Chanel bag.

Or my Valentino sneakers.

He wants the stories.

That realization changed everything.

The clothes served their purpose.

They carried me through different chapters of my life.

Now they’re helping fund the next chapter.

From owning a boutique and building friendships I’ll treasure forever…

…to walking the streets of New York with my husband and son during Fashion Week.

It turns out letting go isn’t about losing something.

Sometimes it’s the very thing that allows you to gain more.

And honestly? I think that’s the best trade I’ve ever made.

It sounded adventurous.

Romantic, even.

Although our children had long since left home, our lives hadn’t slowed down. We still loved traveling, working, getting together with friends, and saying yes to new adventures. But somewhere along the way, we realized we were maintaining a house that no longer matched the season of life we were in. We didn’t want less life - we simply wanted less house.

Besides, I’ve always been a little impulsive when it comes to embracing life. One of my favorite mantras is YOLO. I liked it so much I tattooed it on my hand.

So we did it.

What I didn’t realize was that moving wouldn’t just require us to pack our belongings.

It would require us to confront them.

The timing couldn’t have been more complicated. I had just closed Clothes Minded, the boutique I’d poured thirteen years of my life into. The inventory that hadn’t sold moved into our guest bedroom while I continued trying to sell the last pieces online. Then our house sold quickly, our application for a Laguna Beach condo was accepted, and suddenly our dream became very real.

We had two months to dismantle an entire life.

Every day became another round of decisions.

Facebook Marketplace.

Consignment stores.

Trips to Goodwill.

A neighborhood Facebook group where strangers happily came to take things away.

I learned something surprising.

Getting rid of possessions can become a full-time job.

Thankfully, the new owners bought most of our furniture.

But my closet….

My closet was another story.

I’ve already written about discovering nine different versions of myself hanging there. Every jacket, every pair of boots, and every dress represented a woman I’d once been.

There was the incredible piece that stopped me in my tracks on a buying trip in New York.

The blouse from that tiny London boutique I may never shop again.

The concert tee.

The leather jacket.

The beautiful shoes that reminded me of who I was when I wore them.

I purged in layers.

The obvious decisions came first.

Then the harder ones.

Then the impossible ones.

Finally, the day before the movers arrived, I gave up.

I pulled giant black bags over everything that remained and decided those decisions could move with me.

Seeing those bags lined up was sobering.

My clothes weren’t glamorous anymore.

They were just… volume.

Four oversized boxes full of shoes.

Another giant box filled with designer handbags.

For the first time, my overconsumption wasn’t hidden behind beautiful closet lighting or neatly organized shelves.

It was stacked in black bags and cardboard boxes.

It honestly made me a little sick to my stomach.

Books were easy.

Kitchen gadgets were easy.

But clothes?

Shoes?

Bags?

Those weren’t just possessions.

They were memories.

Identity.

Proof of who I’d been.

I kept wishing someone would simply tell me what to do.

I wanted to hire a professional organizer.

I wanted my husband or my son to say “Kim, you don’t need this.”

I was looking for answers anywhere I could find them.

It helped - but there’s something different about another human looking you in the eye and saying “You’re holding onto a life you’ve already lived.”

Instead, I packed it.

Moved it.

Unpacked it.

And now it’s all here again.

Surrounding me.

Waiting for me to make the same decisions I couldn’t make before.

The difference is that this little condo leaves nowhere to hide.

For the first time, I can clearly see what I own.

And maybe, for the first time, I can clearly see what owns me.

Lately, I’ve found myself scrolling through old photos. If I can find a picture of myself wearing something, somehow it feels easier to let it go. Almost as if the memory has already been safely preserved.

Maybe that’s what I’ve really been afraid of.

Not losing the clothes.

Losing the version of me they represent.

When did I become someone who held onto things so tightly?

Maybe that’s the better question.

What am I afraid I’ll lose if I let them go?

Instead, I met all the women I’ve been.

As I started hanging clothes in my tiny Laguna closet, it hit me. This wasn’t one wardrobe. It was the accumulated evidence of decades spent becoming different women.

Boutique Kim, owner of Clothes Minded. She loved to go on buying trips to find treasures for her favorite customers to make them feel chic and elevated, items they would get compliments wearing. She would peruse the brands at market in New York and Las Vegas, thoughtfully assembling looks for the women who trusted her to help them feel like the best version of themselves.

Rocker Chic Kim lives in studs and leather, concert tees from Greenday and Lenny Kravitz concerts, cool boots and edgy accessories. She danced until her feet hurt, screamed every lyric, and never once worried about tomorrow morning.

Warriors Fan Kim loves her blue and gold jerseys, jackets, metallic Valentino sneakers and Curry caps. She loves acquiring new pieces at every game, seeing the Warriors in the Final Four, cheering Steph on while he set records, and cheering while the confetti fell around her and her family after another Warriors win. The blue and gold and black pieces hold memories of some of the best times.

Vegas Kim believes Vegas is the perfect excuse for black lace, sheer details, and dresses she’d never wear anywhere else. The black Chanel Boy Bag and her chic dresses…these pieces remind her of Bruno Mars and PitBull, drinking Cosmopolitans while playing slot machines and fabulous dinners at fancy restaurants.

Country Kim who loves a quality cowboy boot and a denim jacket, who has line danced and kicked up her heels in Nashville, at Country Thunder and at Red Rocks to see Dierks Bentley, Miranda Lambert and Lainey Wilson. Who took her daughters to Nashville and rang in her 50th birthday on a beer bike riding down Broadway.

New York Kim who wears the refined, edgy, black elevated pieces like Loboutins and a black leather moto jacket. Who has walked from The Whitney to the Met and soaked in the city vibes during every step. Who has waited outside The Mark to see Met Gala looks on celebrities. Whose son lives in the Big Apple and they love to bounce around the city photographing everything they do.

Travelista Kim who loves to pop tags wherever she lands, the newness of the outfits matching the attractions she’s seeing in Japan, Italy, France, England and Denmark. But also loves to acquire new items in all of these fabulous places because the fashion there is so good.

Mom Kim is the one wearing the coziest tee and comfiest lounge pants with a pair of slippers in total chill mode, ready to get down to business in the kitchen with a recipe and her Kitchen Aide mixer. Nothing pleases her more than cooking and baking for her family and there’s no reason to dress up when you’re at home with the ones you love.

And now, Laguna Kim, the girl who wears linen, less makeup and more natural hair styles. This Kim is slowing down, settling in, comfortable in her own skin with nothing to prove and so much life still to live.

And then there’s Writer Kim. She doesn’t have much of a wardrobe yet. She’s the one sitting with a laptop and a cup of coffee, trying to make sense of all the women who came before her. She’s learning that closing a business, downsizing a life and starting over in Laguna Beach isn’t an ending after all.

It’s another chapter.

Do I have to be just one of these at a time, and….do I have to let go of some of these versions that might not be me living my best life?

Maybe the goal isn’t choosing just one version of ourselves. Maybe it’s a carefully curated mixtape of every version of who we’ve been - a woman learning that less can still hold more.

Maybe our closets were never meant to tell one story.

Because every version of us got us here.

She deserves gratitude.

She just doesn’t necessarily deserve closet space.

The trick isn’t keeping every piece.

It’s deciding which ones deserve a place in the next chapter.

I’m curious….how many women are living in your closet?

The truck is loaded, I go out and take a look to make sure my items have all been packed with the TLC they deserve, and suddenly my clothes hanging in their black plastic all along the back opening of the truck look different, they, dare I say, look a little ugly.

It’s an unsettling feeling when the items I had collected, cared for, and loved over the years suddenly make me feel at odds with the pedestal they’ve been on for so long. Of course, the real treasures were tucked safely away in photo boxes and memories, but these clothes held chapters too.

We arrive in Laguna. The walk in closet with ample hanging space plus ample shelves, plus drawers have been replaced with mirrored sliding doors and a few drawers. “Houston, we’ve got a problem” literally goes through my mind. They load those black bags into the closet in a flash and it certainly doesn’t look finished or even slightly good. Once the movers have labored through all the other items we own and everything is situated, I tiptoe into the bedroom with my scissors to have some alone time with my wardrobe. I cut the ties and unbundle the bundles and the clothes burst out and it looks like a bursting sale rack in a store I would never shop in. What happened to the wonderful, beautiful pieces that comprised my closet and were taken on trips to New York, Las Vegas, Japan and Copenhagen? They now looked like something I wanted to run from

.

My husband suggested I grab the rolling rack to use as a tool in organizing. I tried it. The rack quickly became stuffed while the closet stayed as stuffed and now I felt claustrophobic in a place that used to bring me joy. I decided to conquer the shoe boxes. 4 boxes with about 10 boxes of shoes inside. Yep, 40 pairs. Every single pair a “keep” or it would have been consigned or donated before we moved. Where will they all go? My brilliant idea was to just stack them all outside of the closet. It’s been a week, they’re still there. I’ve taken photos of a few and listed them on Poshmark. I’ve worn a few. The rest are standing firm, holding their place.

So here I am, a woman who spent 13 years helping other women navigate change through clothes, standing in the middle of my own biggest transition yet. I’m not sure yet what stays and what goes - in my closet or in this new chapter - but I have a feeling figuring it out might be the best part.

Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear your story.

Have you ever looked at something you once loved - a closet, a home, a collection, even a version of yourself - and realized it not longer fit the life you were living?

Tell me in the comments. I have a feeling I’m not the only one unpacking a new chapter…