Welcome back to My Closet, darling — the only place where creative chaos is neatly folded, catalogued, and served with a side of nostalgia while we wait for a certain iconic designer to resurrect himself in sequins and silk. If that sounds dramatic, it should. Fashion is not for the faint.
Now, if you've noticed a thread — a theme, even — running through my latest posts, bravo. You’re paying attention. Yes, I've been designing (relentlessly, obsessively), and somehow the result is… well, oddly cohesive. Shocking, I know. Organization is not my natural medium — inspiration is. But allow me this structure, just this once, as I dive deeper into what My Closet truly is: a living archive of style, influence, and unapologetic design language.
And before you ask — yes, I will revisit past muses. If one of these bloggers releases a look that makes me gasp like I’ve just seen tulle for the first time, you’ll hear about it. Loudly. I believe in loyalty to the art, not the algorithm.
Let’s talk about the madness — the beautiful, untamable madness that makes a designer a designer. Every great creator I admire, from the ateliers of old Europe to the rebel runways of now, has that one thing — that outrageous, signature design element they simply refuse to let go of. The thing so bold, so deeply them, you’d almost expect someone from a certain fashion dynasty to appear out of nowhere and try to water it down just enough for retail.
We all have it. And it’s divine.
Without that wild spark, there is no originality. No Chanel. No Off-White. No me. If I didn’t embrace that part of myself — the maximalist, pastel-saturated, emotionally embroidered part — you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t understand my references, my reverence, or my choices. And speaking of choices…
Let’s talk Kelly Eden.
I won’t say she’s close to home. I’ll say she is home. Her world — soft pastels, bold cosplay, unapologetic art, and video game fantasy — felt like opening a dollhouse and finding myself sitting inside it. Not in childhood. Now. Present-day. Lipstick on. Mood board ready.
But I must give credit where credit is due. My mother — a woman of fierce taste and fearless imagination — was both a painter and a self-taught interior designer long before her formal degree ever arrived. Her talent was natural. Raw. Refined only by passion. She didn’t design homes — she composed them. Rooms became symphonies. Walls changed colors so often I swore I needed anti-nausea pills just to keep up. Ancient Chinese florals one month, rustic Italian villa the next. Our lineage, Native American with deep ties to both Italian and Chinese heritage, was reflected in every detail — a curated chaos that somehow always worked.
She had a soft spot for teapots. The stranger, the better. Each Mother's Day, I’d present her with another — florals, flamingos, iridescent glaze — all proudly displayed behind glass like trophies in a palace of contradictions. She never used them. That wasn’t the point. She collected beauty.
Then came the dollhouse. Vintage. Pink and powder blue with delicate trims, miniature chandeliers — a childhood Versailles in plastic. And when my grandmother began shipping Barbies from abroad to live in that dreamworld, it became more than a toy. It became my origin story.
So when I discovered Kelly Eden — this brilliant, brave, pastel warrior-princess — everything clicked. Her work isn’t just cosplay and makeup. It’s soul work. She redefines what it means to live artfully — not just to wear it, but to inhabit it. Her passion for interiors, gaming, DIY, and emotional truth makes her not just a designer, but a mirror for all of us who’ve ever dreamed in shades of cotton candy and acrylic.
I hope her world inspires you as it did me — not just to decorate or dress, but to delight. In your home. In your outfit. In your story. And if that story just happens to include a pastel PVC corset or a rhinestone-covered coffee table… well, darling, don’t let Barbie feel threatened.
Until the next reveal.
— R.A.
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