Walk into our former bedroom. Look next to the sofa. Open the closet doors and reach waaaaay to the back. There resides my most precious wackadoo wardrobe. This wearable art collection are items that made me clutch at myself, curse and die one thousand times in ecstasy, resulting in an open wallet. I carry the piece home, hang it with great care, and then forget.
Or when I don’t forget, I get scared and think of a reason not to wear it. Which isn’t hard. There is almost always something wrong with the clothing—vintage is so rarely perfect.
Why should I neglect something that gives me such pleasure? Clothing is meant to be worn, even the aspirational stuff. So that dark, difficult-to-reach part of my closet is getting a tiny spotlight. I’m slowing fixing each piece, and bring it into rotation.
My newest gasp-with-glee pick is a technicolor cape I bought in New York. It was perfect, so all it needed was a tiny vacation at the dry cleaners. Today it came home with me for good, and I put it to use immediately. I cannot believe I’m saying this, but capes are great for walking the dog.
I sashayed around each block as a bright, giant gumball. Me, this rainbow waterfall of fabric, gentle cooing at the tough looking dog when she is good, and gives a reminder when she needs it.
The clothing might be a little weird, but its use doesn’t have to be. Thank you for bringing me joy, April and the Technicolor Cape!