As I wrap my mind around it like some unreal fantasy, I realize the thing about closets is that they contain much more than clothes, shoes, and handbags… apparently they store our lives in a fashion nutshell.  The pair of jeans we refuse to surrender, the t-shirt worn only in the company of our laptops, the torn and tatty sweater we forgot we owned, and even that hideous pair of heels that while the 80’s called and said they want them back… vintage really isn’t the appropriate word. Okay, there might be ramifications to these actions but let’s face it… it’s going to take more than a militia of angry fashion mobsters before we ever throw in the towel on all our favorite things.  With that said, I suppose it’s true that while some depend on the sanctuary of comfort food, given the circumstance, this is really a cut and dry case of comfort clothes and shoes. 

So, after that late night dinner party I aforementioned, and several cocktails later, I started rifling through my closet, one of my natural habitats.  And I couldn’t help wondering why I was hoarding all these items like some dirty little secret.  But most importantly…  I couldn’t figure out when (exactly) I’d managed to collect all of it. Anyway.

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