B.J.’s closet is all about memories. Photos of family members adorn the shelves. She has things that were worn by her mother and grandmother, as well as shallow drawers of costume jewelry, including the bangle bracelet that was given to her grandmother in 1914, passed on to her mother in 1944, and to her in 1967. Her custom wedding dress is there, with hats from years ago and yesterday. On shelving behind glass doors is her collection of compacts. In other boxes high on shelves are treasures only she knows are there—designer purses and shoes and hats. They’re for when the need arises, not for display, she said. Mixed in with the expensive stuff are her Target and Dillard’s specials. “I don’t care where things came from, or their cost. I like the fun of mixing things up,” she says, and is not afraid to wear an expensive suit with a purse from Target and $29 shoes.

The size of B.J.’s closet means that she never has to say she doesn’t have anything to wear. She can always find something to fit the occasion. It also means she doesn’t have to say good-bye to clothes that don’t fit anymore. And she’s keeping her size zero jeans (thank you very much) for the day when she’ll be able to wear them again.

When I suggested starting a clothes swap, she was so there. Since she never wears her evening gowns twice, she immediately offered the satin salmon gown I so admired from her evening gown closet down the hall. Maybe some other time.

Going into Susan Karp’s house is like entering the world of the Erté. It was built not long ago, but is so Art Deco you would swear you’ve gone back to the 1920s or ’30s. The previous owners wanted to create a house with the aura of having been on the beach half a century or more, and it has that. All the bedrooms have the same cedar closets of my Martha’s Vineyard house, but these are sizable. Susie’s second-story boudoir is a magnificent perch with Gulf views even from the spa tub in the bathroom.

Susan’s love of beautiful, turn-of-the-last-century art objects is apparent everywhere. In the bathroom, which is part of the closet, the collection of antique combs makes you want to grow your hair very long. An array of antique perfume bottles lines up along the sink and long shelf above. Covering the dressing table and filling its drawers is a magnificent collection of designer costume jewelry.

But Susie is bored with shopping now and no longer interested in acquiring more. Luckily, she doesn’t need to. She has things she’s never worn, items with the tags still on that she’s forgotten about. This is a common problem with the too-big closet. People buy things, put them away and forget they’re there. Susie’s closet has her shoes in a row down the middle, fanciful ones in every color—green, pink, turquoise. Chanel biker boots, every purse she’s ever worn. “I have trouble letting go,” she admits. She has a whole closet for wraps and scarves, for travel clothes, for evening wear. “The great thing about it is if I dig around long enough, I can always find exactly what I want to wear,” she says.

Pat Hanly doesn’t divest, either. She once worked for the president of Saks in New York, so she knows how to buy. Then she and her husband, Tom, were in the clothing manufacturing business. They created the Judy Hornby line, using many Liberty of London fabrics. For a while, the Hanlys lived on a boat moored at the 79th Street Boat Basin in Manhattan. Not wishing to travel anywhere on the boat, Pat insisted that the engine be removed so that she could use the engine room for her closet. On the tennis courts, however, she’s known for her extensive collection of sportswear and the colorful jewelry she wears with it. She’s a purse fanatic, too, with 128 Louis Vuitton purses—all of which she wears. LV in Paris made a bag just for her tennis racket, and now she can’t buy one with a different head.

Here, the Hanlys have the kind of house that would fit perfectly in Connecticut. It’s wood and rambling and full of whimsy. A million teapots and other collectibles cover every surface. The place was built by an artist of the old school, with no bathroom or closet in the master bedroom. Tub, clothes, water closet—everything was in plain sight. The Hanlys added the amenities.