I spent the early morning rewatching “Kids” for work while separating the contents of my bureau into three categories: Keep, Give Away, Cut Up. It was the third category that conferred the most pleasure. Hacking into clothing that’s failed to live up to its promise always feels so liberating, as if I’ve refused to toe a cruddy line. This morning I made a lacy vest out of a blouse with fussy sleeves, jaunty ankle-grazers out of sagging yoga pants, and a “Flashdance” T out of an oppressive neckline. It all looks a little rough, no doubt about it–my only tool was a pair of a kitchen shears–but those items had it coming. Besides, no matter how many times I wax my brows, you can never take the ’90s out of the girl. I’ll always be more punk rock than polished, just now I call it dowager chic.