I have always thought that a large dressing room would be the ultimate in luxury.
In my fantasy there would be a proper place for all of my clothes and space would never be an issue.
The sweaters and tee shirts would be colour coded, the handbags arranged by size and style, the dresses (hung on padded hangers) would be sorted by season and length and the coats (my personal favourite) would be categorised by both fashion and functionality.
Skirts and shirts would be perfectly spaced and hung just at the right height.
I would never have to rummage to find that one item of clothing that would make my outfit work, my clothes would never looked creased and unloved and the very nature of this fantasy means that I would always be impeccably dressed.
And the shoes.
Imagine a sea of shoe fabulousness stretching as far as the eye can see; shoes in pairs placed on shelves with shoe trees to protect their tiny toes, shoes that sparkle, taunt and tease as you gaze upon them. In my dream there would be no mess at the bottom of the closet.
Heels would always be heeled and dresses would always be hemmed, buttons would never be popped, holes would disappear and snags and runs would be a thing of the past.
In my make-believe dressing room there would be space, infinite space, to twirl and whirl in front of the three sided mirror.
I would see everything in its rightful place before I must leave this couture cocoon.
I could dress with purpose or indecision as was my want and time would never be my enemy.
The dressing room of my imagination is a magic place, xv.