I'm not sure when or how my love for fashion began, but I can tell you it was from a young age. One of the most distinct memories from my childhood was a pair of light, crayon pink colored leg warmers. They were the type of leg warmers that you imagine, gracing the legs of ballerinas, as they hop effortlessly across the stage, mesmerizing audiences with each leap and spin. When I wore them, I too, was dancing across the stage...
My mother purchased the leg warmers for me from the neighborhood K-mart. Growing up in Blossom Valley (San Jose, Ca.), I was the youngest of 4 girls. My parents had immigrated to the US from South Vietnam, both working hard to provide for our family. So, needless to say clothing was not a priority and "hand me downs" made up my entire wardrobe. But naturally, being the youngest in the family had its advantages, and yes, I was spoiled. I can't remember if they were a gift or if I asked for them - but I remembered once, I received them - I never took them off. I paraded proudly around the house in my trendy accessory, touting "I love my legwarmers" at the top of my lungs.
It's hard to explain the tremendous draw to fashion and more so, the sentimental value of these articles of clothing that came together to comprise my wardrobe. I read somewhere that the average woman hangs onto her favorite piece of clothing for 12 years. 12 years? Really? I mean that is the life expectancy of a small dog (sorry, Piccola). I was astonished. After I took a minute to think about it, realized, I too was definitely guilty of hording drawers, closets, and boxes full of clothing. My old memories preserved between the layers of fabric and stitches of thread. Each item has a story. It's been loved, worn, discarded, even forgotten...