I was never the girl that had husbands and babies and yards enclosed with white picket fences in her dreams. My dreams were made of stilettos and wedges, maxi dresses and skinny jeans.
But, I was taught at an early age to value my money and not spend it frivolously. That, combined with a love a fashion, created a girl that only bought what she couldn’t live without and one who treasured everything in her closet. All 1,000 pairs of shoes and 500,000 pieces of clothing. This is only a slight exaggeration. It may seem crazy to some in an age where minimalism is the thing and capsule closets rule, but my love for all things fashion was more than a shallow bit of vanity. My style was just that, mine. It was how I expressed who I was and what I was feeling on any given day. It was the way this brainy geek showed her creative side and how I took a break from the analytical and dove straight into the artsy.
I may have a lot of clothing, but I don’t waste any of it. I love my millions of clothing (fully aware the number is growing) with a passion that rivals the greatest of love stories. I keep my clothing for years, but sometimes you have to let the things you love loose. When that time comes, I turn it into something else, or give it to someone that will love it as much as I did. Each piece has a story, a memory. I love each one because each piece is an extension of me. Even those pieces that were gifts that I would never have bought for myself become a funny story that turn into a styling challenge.
I never gave much thought to where my clothes came from, only what they cost. And by cost I mean how inexpensively I could acquire them. Now, I’ve started to think about not only who makes my clothing, but how it’s made. It’s become not only about how much I love each garment, but also the love that has gone into it. I want my clothing to mean something, to have a story even before it makes it to my closet. Because, while I may have too many clothes, you can never have enough stories or too much love.