Last spring I decided to upgrade my old dresser. It was from Target, and chosen swiftly during the sea change that is post-college life. Darkly paneled, with brushed steel handles, the dresser looked nice enough sitting on the sterile Target shelves. I’ve used it for four solid years now and despite a couple of scratches and chips, it has held up remarkably well for something under $75. all this being said, I’ve never had any particular devotion to it, seeing it as less “mine” than something I use.

So, during last spring’s room-renovation, while I was scouring Craigslist for furniture, I came upon a very dear cream dresser. It is solid wood with some classy, yet whimsical woodwork at the bottom and top. when the owner mentioned to me that it was his childhood dresser, whilst growing up in Park Slope, I was sold. I imagined rubber handballs hidden in amongst the underwear and grubby nickels stuffed in a sock. This dresser, with its rich history, could feel like it was mine.

But not without some help. The cream paint (at least two decades old) was stripped with the help of a power sander. (FYI, take a lesson from me and wear a mask when power sanding. I cannot stress to you how gross it is if you don’t!) I applied a coat of primer, then two coats of a dusty blue/green. New knobs had to be found and installed, requiring new holes to be drilled and old ones epoxied over. I even had a vinyl sticker custom made (thanks Etsy!) depicting wildflowers in riotously bright colors. And to top it all off (literally) a piece of glass cut to fit and protect the dresser’s top.

Now, I feel like this is mine uniquely, and all the more satisfying because it was the product of my own two hands. But, ironically enough, it sits unused in the spare bedroom, as I can’t yet bear to part with my Target dresser. I guess change, no matter how much I want it, is always hard for me. even with a dresser.

Photo credit: Caketime.