The way I see it, you’re either an accessories person or you’re not. I know plenty of people (ok, women) who love to carry the perfect purse, drape the ideal scarf, choose the earrings that complement the belt that ties in with the exact pumps that go with the ideal pair of jeans (of the many in their closet) that make them look thin.

I can’t do it. It’s too much stuff. I’m a Nikes and Levi’s kind of girl. Also sweats (ask me about my collection of university sweatshirts). And black tights with short skirts. And that’s about as far as my fashion interests go.

Case in point. On a recent flight, I was seated next to the Accessories Queen. AQ was decked out in no less than half a dozen strands of beads, chains, and assorted neckwear; armfuls of bracelets in various degrees of mixed jeweled-ness (bangles, links, linked bangles); enormous diamond studs (although I’m thinking that if they were real, she’d be in first class); and a ring on eight out of 10 fingers (none on her ring fingers — go figure). Then there was the purse — an enormous handbag easily the size of a Smart car (all right, minus the tires). When she and her accessories got up to use the restroom, her clinky-clanky metal belt made itself known, along with her leopard-print stilettos.

She looked like a bodacious, brilliant, bold peacock (not a drab peahen) but, you know, she wore her excess with much success. Maybe it was the fact that she truly enjoyed all her accessories. Maybe it was her equally dazzling smile and her  friendly demeanor. Maybe it was just that at 30,000 feet I was feeling the effects of all that dry cabin air.

I like to imagine that we each spent a moment wondering how the other half  lives. (Me: How long does it take her to put all that stuff on? She: Would a little dazzle kill her?).

No, we weren’t birds of a feather, but we did share the same flight. Of fancy.

© 2013 Claudia Grossman