After all the years I've been contributing to the minimalist vibe here on Hive, I've got cause to write about something so awfully unminimalist as to be obscene, and, as hoarding can be, sad.

I caught up with an old, old friend that I used to hang out with in the early '90's. To say her family has money would be an understatement. I don't want to go into any details about her life as it's not so important, and I respect her privacy, so all you need to know here is that this friend has never, and will never need to, work. Her life has been quite the story, and if I could tell it here, it would be entertaining, but this story isn't to entertain you either.

I'd known this friend had a clothes shopping habit - as in, an obsession which resulted in a lot of purchases which were often gifted to friends when she had a tidy out. But I had no idea what that meant in real life.

In her lovely and very large home - five times larger than my own - she had a whole room, Imelda Marcos stylie, dedicated to shoes she couldn't and didn't wear as she is currently in a wheelchair (another story I don't want to tell) as well as a huge walk in robe full of beautiful clothes she admittedly never wore. I admired her good humour about it - I'd be depressed and in tears in her position, but we all find our strength in our hardest moments, don't we?

In another room lay many, many moving boxes, full of clothes she wanted to give away, knowing they were of no use to her anymore. It was quite brave of her to get rid of them - a mother of the bride dress she'd never wear, a pair of Hot Tuna '90's jeans she would no longer fit into (I remember her wearing these back in the day), designer jackets, beautiful designer shirts still with the tag. There were some I hoped - dreamt - I could wear, others she insisted I take so that I could pass on to my much more fashionable daughter in law with a figure that could wear anything and look beautiful.

Anything else I didn't want, she said, I could take to the charity shop - I wondered whether I could try opening a Depop account (Vinted doesn't exist in Australia), but didn't want to spit in the face of her generosity. It's what she does - accumulates clothes bought off e-bay and various online shopping retailers, and realises she has too much, and gives them away.

She knows she has a problem. She's self aware these days, more so than in her early 20's - oh - that photo of us smoking on the verandah, her so fashionable and blond with her cowboy boots and me with a god awful fringe, looking untrendy and awkwardly self conscious - and knows that it's connected to money, her family, her life. She knows she needs help. I'm glad I'm hear for an hour or two, and vow to come back and help her again. She's not an easy person to know, but she has grown softer over time, kinder, and everyone is deserved of time, and love.

I laugh and tell her about my small double hanging space in half a wardrobe - a couple of jackets, a few shirts, and lots of empty space, and my scant 'collection' of functional shoes. I'm not sure she can really, truly understand it. Maybe if you have this amount of money it's hard to even think about what it means to not have it.

I don't feel envy, though I do wish I had some nice clothes I felt good in. I'm reminded, more than anything, that having doesn't always mean happiness.

And I'm reminded how much I liked her, even if our relationship was fraught, and how I genuinely would like to spend more time with her - just hopefully no sorting out clothes.

With Love,