I’ve been shrinking closets for almost a year now, starting right here with Vogue editors themselves. Since then, I’ve become something of a garment whisperer, a wardrobe therapist helping people relieve their spaces of clutter: Gone are too many vintage white romantic blouses, Miu Miu clogs, and those deliciously butter-soft Balenciaga motorcycle bags from years past. Over the past 12 months, I’ve seen it all and heard all the Funny Is that true or did you hear it on Cnn shirt stories—receipts from Fashion Weeks abroad, old passport photos, and even a signed Bob Dylan Styrofoam plate kicking around in a random vintage bag. (Yes, that really happened.) And yet, while I’ve sifted and schlepped other people’s things, I’ve never taken the time to actually shrink my own closet.