I have too much inventory. WAY too much inventory.
So I thought of what might be an inventive way to get rid of some, in a super-sized lot of over 100 items. The idea of steaming and photographing, say, 50 slips made me want to go hide under the bed. But what about a mystery grab bag?
I had seen those auctions and they seemed like a fun, easy way to clear out a big load of clothing. Only I needed some big boxes. After spending over an hour trying to make a big box out of a box that a child's crib had come in (slashing myself with the box cutter in the process and trying not to bleed too badly on the shipping tape I was using to vainly hold the asymmetrical thing together), I gave up and went to the UPS Store, where I bought three 20 cubic foot boxes for a mere $30.00. Hey, this is New York.
They were really. Big. Boxes.
I started opening tubs and throwing open closets, folding and tossing clothes into the boxes as I went. Since the place as always was a hellacious mess, slipping and sliding on random empty shipping envelopes and papers and the occasional scarf was a definite hindrance to efficiency. Nevertheless, I had one box filled, and then another, and then...
Paralysis set in. I was surrounded by bins and closetsfuls of vintage clothing, lingerie, and accessories, but I could no longer choose what to put in the last box. How could I actually part with that indigo Miss Elaine jumpsuit, even if I still hadn't gotten around to listing it after three years?
(I am posing on a box because the jumpsuit was far too short in the torso for long-waisted me, and if I stood up straight, it would have cut me in half lengthwise.)
Or those cute Vanity Fair nylon pajamas? Or any of those adorable silk figural handkerchiefs? Or any more coats, even though I hadn't even photographed them and coat season is technically over?
"Strap on a pair!" my inner voice ordered me. "Fill that last box NOW! Before you can think about it! Just grab anything and throw it in the box!" I did as the voice told me (the things it commands me to do are not always so benevolent), as fast as I could. Lo and behold, the level of folded material grew higher until it was nearly level with the top. I had three enormous boxes filled with over 100 pieces vintage men's and women's vintage clothing, including macrame belts, 1950s lace dresses, even a few designer pieces in small sizes.
My karma prevents me from being able to sell anything small-sized. I don't know why.
I don't know which is worse: the fact that the boxes barely made a dent in the amount of vintage around here, or that they haven't sold. The Boxes, as I think of them, mocked me every time I walked through the front hall to the bedroom or the kitchen, especially when one of my cats perches on them. Which they like to do. The listing sat, with five watchers, in my store.
Today, in preparation for Thanksgiving, a helper and I moved EVERYTHING out of the front hall and into our home office (which is one half of our living room). "Keep The Boxes in the front!" I told him. "They might get sold!"
They are really big boxes.