Tales of a vintage fashion hoarder

Yesterday I started bagging, boxing, and piling up clothing and accessories to take over to the Fashion Hangover clothing swap at the Rag Refinery this Sunday. While this is not really news to me, per se, the sheer volume of clothing I have amassed over the years struck me as unusually... well... absurd. I've sold lots of it, but keep adding to the hoard, so any purging has been negated by further acquisitions. In short: I have GOT to get rid of this shit. But I love every single piece. At this pace, I'm headed straight for Hoarders. My poor, poor husband.

Witness the insanity:

Looks innocent enough from the outside...

A peek to the left

A peek to the right

I don't know that these pics really capture the scale of this closet. It's located in an unfinished room above our garage, so it is the full width of a two-car garage and it's packed from wall-to-wall, not to mention the shelves filled with shoes, handbags, and boxed up bikinis and halters and hot pants and... sigh. Plus a big box of clothes in need of repair, and an even bigger box of clothing destined to be cut up and upcycled in the Stephie Lou Laboratory.


And I can't stop buying. I can't resist a good deal. It's in my DNA. Damn you, DNA!

So yesterday, as I searched for swap-worthy duds, I unearthed some of my most valuable treasures, bit the bullet, and put them on etsy. I'm going to force myself to list at least 5 garments a week. That shouldn't be too painful, right?

And vintage sewing patterns? That's a whole other show, Geraldo.