Last time I was at my parents', I went into the basement to discuss possible remodel ideas with my dad and brother-in-law, Adam. As we were conversing, a large bin caught my eye. Instantly memories came flooding back. This was our beloved dress up bin. Full of fine materials, antique pioneer dresses, old prom gowns, and unwanted shoes; this bin held my childhood. Countless summer days were spent dragging "the bin" outside and pillaging through the bright colored clothing. While we adorned ourselves in outfits, elaborate stories would unfold. Of course there was the coveted purple silk fabric, it was large and could make any normal outfit amazing. This fabric was sought after and fought after almost every time "the bin" made an appearance. Fashion shows, mini Broadways and dramatic scenes unfolded whenever "the bin" was around.
Perhaps this bin, or the 29 cycles of America's Next Top Model I've watched, are the reason I look at the latest Vogue magazine and suppress my inner desire to strike a pose and load on the eyeliner. Sure, I initially snicker at the skinny models with the crazy hair and dramatic makeup, so strange and unnatural. Yet as I am snickering I am secretly wanting to dress up just like them and prance around my apartment! But, just like "the bin," my desires are tucked away in a dusty corner of the basement of my better judgement.