I woke up today with what I can only call closet withdrawals. Ok I'll explain. There was a time in my life, 3 or 4 years ago, where I took a cheaply rented apartment and decadently utilized it. Flash forward to last night's party. I arrive to a friend's house. Her and her husband have bought a house. It was lovely, they were lovely, their friends were lovely. The evening was great. It was hours into this party when surreally every guest had claimed to heard lots about my bedroom closet. All the dudes knew about it! These chicks I had never met knew about it! So, I work in fashion retail and my job is where I've blown a lot my paychecks for the last *gulp* eight years. That's how I ended up with that lavish closet.
"The Salon" was an inspiration to some that had experienced it. I was renting a bungalow (with a roommate, I'll get to him another time. He's obviously the best roommate ever) and had transformed the biggest bedroom into a closet. It was organized as complicated and as thorough as if it had it's own Dewey Decimal System. Racks lined all the walls with the exception of one the was stacked with shoe boxes. I had shelves dedicated only to handbags, a drawer of just clutches. I filed all my jewelry by genera on a shelving system in a corner that towered nearly to the ceiling. In the middle of the room I placed a plush velvet ottoman under a cluster of chandeliers. Naturally, I made it comfortable to lounge there. Parties progressed there most of the time. Friends would raid shoe boxes and would pull out dresses. I poured wine from a rack I had handily moved there on a vanity next to my hot rollers. "The Salon" had been famed. I no longer have that clothing arrangement but I still have a wall of shoes in my dining room that serves as a great momento.