We Have a Boutique at Home
One time Coveteur did a profile on Amanda Murray’s closet et I went OFF. The way she spoke about fashion et culture resonated so deeply, but the way stylist, Monique Kamargo, staged her closet rewired my brain.
Something about the Prada Spring 2017 feather-trimmed tank hanging from a gallery wall of family photos set my heart ablaze, not any less striking than the emerald Manolo Blahnik Hangisimu anchored on a gilded dish drying rack or the polka dot platforms perched on a stack of magazines.
When I brought it up at work the next day, the cubicle was unmoved et I remember one person asking if I only liked it because living in a boutique would be a “dream situation” for me.
Three years after that profile, I was in a breakup that moved me out of a high-rise, floor-to-ceiling window, one bedroom + den condo, et into a much, much smaller one bedroom, no balcony, ground floor apartment. I think the only thing that humbled me harder than my first MTL winter was being forced to reckon with the fact that I greatly underestimated how big my closet was. Et because God has a sense of humour (a dark one), the bedroom closet is actually quite big. It’s just big in crawl space, not closet space.
So it started with the jewellery.
My mom found this mid-century lowboy dresser on the side of the road. She sealed the cracks, painted it pink, gave it new handles then gifted it to us (read: me). My ex didn’t quite see the vision though—“why would she give us a pink dresser for a shared bedroom?” I didn’t have an answer for him then, but if he were to ask again I think I’d tell him that maybe her hands knew something we didn’t.
After the breakup, it was one of only two pieces of furniture I moved with, et that’s when I painted it cobalt blue et gave it new handles again. Some things don’t stay the same, but they stay. My jewellery lives on it now. A conversation starter for almost everyone who visits for the first time, et also the only real choice I had when it came to finding space for all my jewellery. You tell me what a diva’s to do when there are no shelves or space for shelves?
After the jewellery problem, came the footwear problem. Thankfully though, good shoes don’t have to be worn to walk in their full potential. So footwear became functional home decor et at this point I was Martha Stewart.
Somewhere between dressing magazines with earrings et finding my Alaïa platforms a home on my record player, I realized that I didn’t want to live in a boutique, I wanted to live in my closet. Carrie Bradshaw once said she likes her money where she can see it—very valid. What is a wardrobe if not another investment portfolio? But I figure if you can live in your closet, that’s 24/7 surveillance of your most stylish assets et personal history for free! People pay top dollar for this kind of security.
As I’ve said only—exactly—322 times (I counted), clothing holds memory. It definitely sparks joy when I’m walking to the kitchen et the leather scent off a Marc by Marc Jacobs hobo bag hanging from a doorknob reminds me that I am, in fact, a survivor of every awkward teen phase I’ve ever had. Or when I'm greeted by the Vince Camuto duped Rouxa boots that guard the bookshelf in my entryway et I remember when I was the most dressed up, out-of-her-depth employee of Holt Renfrew’s audit & security department. Only the second most surprising job I’ve ever had btw.
Three years post moving in, et I’m getting ready to move again. In three months, my chiffon 3D floral necktie will be hanging off another exposed ceiling pipe—or draped across the bedroom mirror if my new place doesn’t have exposed ceiling pipes. It’ll be a brand new space, decorated with the same old relics that hold time, et space, et evidence of eras I regret et don’t.
If we pull the lens back, is this not just museum curation on a deeper et more interpersonal scale? Has the rate gone up? Should I start charging for tickets at le port?
