An Entirely Reasonable Number of Bows

In which I attempt to inventory a collection that has already spread across two homes… and possibly established a hidden population inside the doom pile.

I like bows.

This may sound like a simple statement until you notice that my bow display stretches from nearly the ceiling to the floor… and that it contains only the bows currently living with me.

More remain at my mother’s house. Others have likely established feral colonies somewhere inside the doom pile. Their exact number is unknown. I maintain that this is an entirely reasonable number of bows.

The Q Incident

Like many entirely manageable obsessions, mine began with one poorly supervised shopping trip. I walked into Q for the first time and discovered an entire selection of enormous hair bows in nearly every color imaginable. This was, in retrospect, a mistake.

I did not buy all of them at once. That would have been unreasonable.

I simply returned often enough for the distinction to become meaningless.

There were bows in soft pink, deep green, navy blue, bright red, black, cream, lavender, and every vaguely botanical shade between them. There were satin bows, lace bows, patterned bows, and bows large enough to alter the silhouette of my entire head.

Naturally, I needed options.

A Bow for Every Possible Occasion

The practical defense of my collection is that no two bows are exactly alike. A black lace bow does not serve the same purpose as a giant white satin bow. A dusty pink bow cannot simply replace an olive-green bow. Navy is not indigo. Lavender is not periwinkle. These are important distinctions upon which civilization presumably depends.

Some bows are soft and romantic. Some look like they belong to a woodland librarian. Others suggest that I may be attending a tea party, investigating a forgotten forest, or delivering an ominous message on behalf of the moon.

A few are subtle.

Most are not.

The largest bows are especially useful when an outfit requires one final detail… provided that the detail in question is roughly the size of a small bird.

The Colors I Keep Coming Home To

Despite the variety, certain colors appear again and again. There are forest greens and soft sages, the colors that eventually found their way into Ethereal Moon Mousery. There are creams, dusty pinks, and muted earth tones. And, inevitably, there are the blue-violets: lavender, periwinkle, deep violet, and indigo. Those colors have quietly followed me into nearly everything I create.

They appear in my artwork, my flowers, my fictional worlds, my website, the names I choose, and apparently an increasingly large percentage of my hair accessories.

I recently found another set containing periwinkle, indigo, violet, smoky lavender, black, and a plum so dark it almost disappears into shadow.

Obviously, this filled a critical gap in the collection.

Technically, I have not bought that set yet. I currently have cash, which must first be transferred to Becca in exchange for access to the mysterious realm of online card payments.

But spiritually, the bows have already joined the family.

The Current Population Is Unknown

Attempting to count the collection would require gathering bows from several different habitats. The visible population occupies a long cord on my wall. A second population may still live at my mother’s house, preserved in old photographs from the height of the Q era. Several individuals are unaccounted for and believed to be somewhere beneath the shifting geological layers of the doom pile.

Until a proper survey can be conducted, any estimate would be scientifically irresponsible. What I can confirm is that the collection includes giant satin bows, small bows, lace bows, dotted bows, butterfly bows, patterned bows, neutrals, pastels, jewel tones, and enough shades of green to constitute a small forest.

There are also several bows large enough to qualify for their own mailing addresses.

Why Bows?

There is something wonderfully unapologetic about a bow.

It does not pretend to be strictly practical. It exists because someone looked at a strip of fabric and decided it should become decorative, symmetrical, and perhaps slightly excessive.

A bow can make an ordinary outfit feel intentional.

[Sometimes the bow really is the entire point.]

It can be soft, dramatic, playful, elegant, strange, or all of those things at once. It can take up space without asking permission to do so. Perhaps that is what I love most about them.

My bows do not all match one aesthetic because neither do I. Some belong in a cottage garden. Some belong beneath moonlight. Some look polished and delicate, while others appear prepared to consume the entire back of my head.

Together, they make perfect sense.

At least to me.

An Entirely Reasonable Conclusion

Do I need more bows?

That depends entirely on how loosely one defines the word “need.” Do I already own several bows in similar colors? Yes, but, as previously established, lavender is not periwinkle, periwinkle is not indigo, and indigo is certainly not smoky violet.

Will I continue discovering bows that occupy previously unrepresented positions within this extremely serious color taxonomy? Almost certainly. Therefore, until the missing members of the collection are recovered from my mother’s house and the doom pile has been properly excavated, I cannot conclusively state that I have too many bows.

The investigation remains ongoing.