Our Story

Between once upon a time and last Tuesday, on the corner of Bleecker.

I. I am a wardrobe.

A small one, behind a periwinkle door. I keep my own hours and a great many secrets, and I have only ever had one occupation: dressing the luckiest girl in the world.

II. The girl in question.

Fortune poured over her like afternoon light. Taxis appeared before she raised her hand. The most incorrigible of suitors minded their manners. Even the weather scheduled its storms around her hair appointments. The whole city seemed arranged for her convenience — and yet her clothes never got the memo.

Panties meant to stay hidden that loved the spotlight. A strap that crept into view no matter how she tucked it. A bra that stuck to her before it slipped off on the night that mattered most. In a life where nothing ever dared go wrong, her wardrobe alone misbehaved. She was terribly embarrassed; I, even more so.

III. So I began to dream.

Getting dressed should be pure delight — never a place for worry. I dreamed up clothes that behave — that stay where they're put, show nothing they shouldn't, and ask to be thought about exactly never.

IV. One does not stitch a dream alone.

So I called in the others. The mice took up the seams, the sparrows threaded the needles, the bunnies saw to the linings — and overnight, together, we brought them to life, dress after dress and more besides, and left them waiting on golden hangers.

V. And then — the best part.

Her clothes asked nothing of her, so she was free for everything else. She frolicked, she danced, she cartwheeled and sat criss-cross-applesauce — bold, unbothered, entirely herself. This is the secret no one tells you: the right clothes don't merely flatter a girl. They make her more alive.

VI. The door is open.

I have created these clothes for more than one — fortune only grows when you share it. So I've left my door ajar, periwinkle and impossible to miss, for the girl who'd like her charmed life to reach down to her hemline. Step inside. Luck looks well on you.

— kept behind the periwinkle door by Lexa (the mice can't ship)