One of the perks of being a dummy stylist is that, when they get old, you get to keep a dummy or two.
Universe, meet Vicki . . .
. . . she's named after my former boss. You know. The one who was Miranda Priestly's evil twin to my Andy Sachs. I thought it was fitting in a very my-my-how-the-tables-have-turned sort of way since she's now relegated to a life under my thumb.
You see? I did get my revenge!
Vicki has been with me for something like ten years. She's paraded around in my living room as a piece of art and at one point, was covered in fashion magazine clippings as a statement against fashion's tendency toward unhealthy body image and she's even scared unsuspecting visitors while hanging out in my guest room.
She's seen the emerald coast of Florida, the artsy urban grit of Birmingham's loft district and the glitz and glam of Miami Beach. She's also seen the inside of a box for a year, while we lived in middle america - where she didn't quite fit into the cookie cutter mold.
Today she's happy in her new role as accessory holder in my bedroom.