Growing up, my mother was the best dressed woman I knew. Petite and Iranian, she had her clothes tailored to match her size 2 frame. She fit into the sample sizes and took advantage of designer sales in a hundred mile radius. Unlike the other mothers in our relaxed Westchester New York community who lived in tennis skirts, my mother was always dressed stylishly, her thick mane of black hair coiffed, her make up impeccable. Her closet was also a place of childhood fascination -- the closets opened to well ordered perfection, with clothes categorized and pressed, ostrich and snakeskin handbags lined up, shoes kept in their original boxes.