When my wardrobe really got to me, I would linger over the closet-organizer ads—the hanger equivalent of romantic getaway fantasies—thinking all I really needed was an intervention, something to get us back on track, to renew the spark that must still be there. In a word, I felt guilty: I could honestly say that good taste was re?ected in that 20-square-foot space, and there was no doubt about how much time and money. I swooned over pictures of little suede shoeboxes with individual nameplates and Plexiglas cashmere containers and slim drawers upon slim drawers built to hold one choice item apiece.
A woman deconstructs her closet and finds a wanting wardrobe.
If you had a super dirty dream that your alarm clock interrupts, this is a way to "finish it off" (so to speak)