I think that the stereotype is that your wardrobe gets more and more desperate as you get closer to laundry day. As in, by the time you actually clean the collection of rags you call “clothes,” you’re wearing swim trunks and Hawaiian shirts in the middle of winter (which I guess could be normal in some places. Like Hawaii).
But if you’re a horrible monster like myself, you burn through all the slobbish basics first. Old t-shirts, torn pants, and ancient, unmatched socks are the first to go. They’re so familiar and comfortable I can’t turn them away. Then, when all my homeless-esque garb is exhausted, I’m forced to reach deeper into the closet and wear collared shirts, nice pants, and socks that could ever match a shoe. What I’m saying is that if you ever see me in a suit, I’m either on my way to a funeral or actively doing laundry (or both if I timed it right).
Also I’m afraid of ever using bleach but that’s another issue.