I'm desperate to find someone who can make sense of my walk-in closet, it's so way past dysfunctional. I can't even organize the runs in my stockings, much less find anything once I hang it up. That's why I just sort things into recently obsessed-over piles with the stuff that needs ironing crushed flat under everything else. Just last week I unearthed a boa that'd made a nest in a poofy taffeta petticoat and shed a huge radioactive pile of feathery debris everywhere. This fluff is lighter than styrofoam peanuts and even harder to clean up once it gets loose. Though it does add a sort of artlessly festive touch, only a few of my outfits will coordinate with neon pink.