Remember that scene in Mommy Dearest, when the Joan Crawford character is screaming at her daughter about wire coat hangers and how much she can’t stand them? Edited, it basically goes like this: “No… wire… hangers! … What’re wire hangers doing in this closet when I told you: no wire hangers EVER!? … Wire hangers, why? Why?”
I confess: I too hate wire hangers. But I didn’t realize how much I hated them until I found about 20 old wooden ones in the barn before we restructured it. Beautiful. Simple. Perfect. Like the classic yellow number 2 pencil. Or the unbeatable wooden clothes pin. Functional. Built to last. Pleasing.
They even tell stories in beautiful typography. Once upon a time…a dress in a Paris boutique hung here. Once upon a time…a shirt was laundered and pressed in the Netherlands. “Like new,” in two languages. A bilingual coat-hanger. If only they could really speak.
The stories would be rich, murmured in French, Dutch and English. Tales of hard-trodden sidewalks and hours in the office. Night flights on PAN-AM tucked inside leather luggage alongside romance novels and fire engine red lipstick. Sequins spelling disaster on a rainy night. Shoulder pads in, shoulder pads out, the decades pressing on. And yet, what were they doing in a barn? Abandoned to a life of cobwebby country living, until rediscovered by a hectic family of four with a particularly appreciative mother. No…more…wire…hangers!