Our house is fine, easy to tidy when it gets cluttered. The room, though... if the cameras from A&E took B-roll and intermixed it with the possums running out of cupboards and cat pancakes and old Ford trucks filled with bicycle parts, it would fit right in. Well, not really. But still.
You may have a Hoarders room. It's the one where all the STUFF goes. The stuff you own with no plausible explanation why. My Hoarders room has Christmas decor and feather boas and silk ficus trees and broken printers and strange foot lockers filled with SECRETS. I'm over it. I've been cleaning it out today, and now there's a nice pile for the Salvation Army. They're going to be stoked to get a set of Mary Kate and Ashley VHS tapes! (Don't ask, because I don't gotz answers.)
I was going to turn it into a writing room, a.k.a., an office. Kind of like these famous writing sheds that all the greats locked themselves away inside. Only mine would smell better. (Srsly, watch that slideshow, it's totes cool.)
But the boyfriend sagely suggested we turn it into a dressing room. It makes sense. My clothes swallow the bedroom. This way, we'd both have organization in our lives. And he thought I might enjoy spending time in a room filled with precious belongings (my shoes). If I had a slick office with a glass desk and some snobby books, would I really go there to work? Or would I still default to the coffee shops or the couch with my laptop? Probably.
So... dressing room! I hope I'll love it so much that I'll go there to write, and, you know, sip champagne out of platform shoes. And fo' rizzle. A luxury walk-in closet creams an old shed crawling with legionnaires. Sorry, Thoreau.
Now, how to do it? Every fiber of my being tells me I need this to continue breathing:
That's Miley Cyrus's dressing room, folks. A great place to smoke salvia and roller skate. All it needs is a grumpy white dog accosted with bows. Jim would likely kill me. But I do seriously enjoy those shelves.
Maybe we'll do something cleaner, like this. I like the simplicity of the clothing rack. I don't like the GROSSY ANTLERS on the wall, and I hope I'd finally stop leaving my shoes in a pile if I had a whole room dedicated to their zen arrangement.
Or, I could just turn into a complete cliche and do a replica of Carrie Bradshaw's closet. Why stop halfway to predictable when you can just finish the job?
Input welcome. Pictures of the end result, obviously, will come.