A Letter to John Cogswell (1738–1819)
Dear John,
In 1776, most Americans did not have closets.
Which makes modern phrases like “coming out of the closet” historically hilarious if you really think about it.
A colonial farmer could hardly hide in a walk-in closet beside a chandelier and custom shoe rack if the house itself barely had indoor plumbing.
And yet, strangely enough, this story is not merely about architecture.
It is about what human beings choose to store…
and what they choose to hide.
And there you stood, John Cogswell, cabinetmaker and craftsman, living in a world where clothing storage looked entirely different from the carefully curated closets of modern America.
In 1776, built-in bedroom closets were rare in American homes.
People simply owned fewer possessions.
Clothing was stored primarily in:
wooden chests,
armoires,
clothespresses,
hooks,
drawers,
and freestanding furniture.
Even wealthy Americans often owned only a modest number of garments compared to modern wardrobes bursting with seasonal fashion, impulse purchases, and emotional-support hoodies.
The few closets that did exist were usually small utility spaces tucked beside chimneys or hidden inside awkward architectural corners. Many served as storage for linens, candles, food, or household goods rather than dedicated clothing areas.
And despite one of America’s most persistent historical myths, there was no actual “closet tax” in the colonies forcing Americans to avoid built-in closets.
The truth was much simpler:
people did not yet need large closets because consumer culture itself remained relatively small.
The average American wardrobe in 1776 emphasized durability, practicality, and necessity rather than endless variation.
A few work garments.
A few formal garments.
Seasonal layers.
Repair and reuse.
Clothing was expensive.
Fabric was valuable.
Storage reflected scarcity rather than abundance.
The body owned clothes.
Modern America sometimes feels like clothes own the body.
By the 19th century, closets slowly began emerging more commonly inside wealthier homes as architecture evolved and consumer goods expanded.
Built-in storage spaces appeared gradually in Federal and Greek Revival homes, though wardrobes and armoires still dominated everyday life.
Early closets often remained small and multifunctional. Some functioned almost like tiny retreat spaces:
private rooms for reading,
praying,
dressing,
or storing valuables.
Even the word “closet” itself carried emotional meanings beyond storage:
privacy,
withdrawal,
secrecy,
solitude.
The metaphorical seeds were already there.
And as the 19th century progressed, the rise of industrialization and mass production transformed both homes and wardrobes.
Americans gradually accumulated more:
shirts,
dresses,
coats,
hats,
shoes,
accessories,
and personal belongings.
Storage spaces grew alongside possessions.
Closets became symbols of prosperity and modern domestic organization.
The invention of improved garment hangers during the late 1800s even helped reshape closet design itself. Civilization engineered increasingly efficient ways to organize appearance.
That sentence may summarize more of modern America than we care to admit.
Then the 20th century arrived…
and closets became fully Americanized.
Early 20th-century homes still often relied on wardrobes or modest built-ins. But postwar suburban expansion transformed the closet into a standard feature of the “American Dream.”
New homes increasingly included:
bedroom closets,
linen closets,
medicine cabinets,
laundry storage,
and eventually walk-in closets.
Storage became architecture.
And as consumer culture exploded during the mid-20th century, closets expanded accordingly.
Americans bought more:
more clothes,
more shoes,
more accessories,
more seasonal fashion,
more identities to wear publicly.
Closets quietly became autobiographies made of fabric.
By the 1970s and 1980s, the rise of the walk-in closet transformed storage into lifestyle. Closets evolved from hidden utility spaces into semi-private sanctuaries:
custom shelving,
mirrors,
islands,
lighting,
display systems.
Some modern closets now resemble luxury boutiques more than storage rooms.
And then something fascinating happened linguistically.
At the exact same moment literal closets became larger and more elaborate…
the phrase “the closet” became one of the most emotionally charged metaphors in modern American culture.
To be “in the closet” came to mean hiding one’s authentic self, especially regarding sexuality or gender identity.
And for many LGBTQ Americans throughout the 20th century, the closet was not merely metaphorical discomfort.
It was survival.
Jobs could be lost.
Families rejected.
Lives endangered.
Communities destroyed.
The closet became a psychological architecture built from fear, shame, secrecy, protection, and longing.
Earlier Americans hid valuables in closets.
Modern Americans often hid vulnerable truths there instead.
And yet the story does not end only in sadness.
The late 20th and early 21st centuries witnessed millions of people gradually “coming out,” publicly revealing identities that earlier generations often concealed to survive.
That transformation reshaped American culture profoundly.
Not perfectly.
Not universally.
Not without backlash.
But visibly.
And perhaps that visibility matters because every human being possesses some version of a closet:
hidden grief,
secret fear,
private tenderness,
buried desire,
unspoken identity,
or truths waiting nervously behind carefully constructed doors.
Closets are never only architectural.
They are emotional.
And now, in 2026, closets in America have become astonishingly elaborate spaces.
High-end homes feature:
LED lighting,
digital wardrobe systems,
marble islands,
glass display shelving,
automated storage,
built-in jewelry drawers,
luxury seating,
and personalized organization systems.
Companies like California Closets transformed storage into lifestyle branding itself.
Modern closets are designed not merely to hide possessions…
but to curate identity.
People organize:
fashion aesthetics,
professional selves,
romantic selves,
gym selves,
vacation selves,
internet selves.
Entire personalities now hang color-coordinated beside soft LED lighting.
And perhaps that is why this subject feels strangely deeper than furniture design.
Because closets reveal what civilizations value.
1776 America valued durability and necessity.
2026 America values personalization and self-curation.
But somewhere beneath both eras lives the same fragile human instinct:
to protect the things most personal from the outside world.
John, if you could walk through America in 2026, you would surely stand astonished watching:
entire rooms devoted to clothing storage,
closets larger than some colonial bedrooms,
digital inventory systems tracking wardrobes,
luxury boutiques designed to resemble private dressing sanctuaries,
and millions of people publicly discussing identities once hidden in fearful silence.
But perhaps you would also recognize something timeless beneath all the shelves and symbolism.
Human beings still spend enormous effort organizing the things they wear…
while often struggling to reveal the person underneath them.
With cedar chests, walk-in sanctuaries, hidden truths, glowing shoe displays, and one species forever building little rooms to contain the things it fears losing most,
—The Radical Left🚪🖤
And dear reader, perhaps the deeper question after 250 years is this:
What do we choose to hide…
and why?
Because closets were never only about storage.
They became places for:
possessions,
memories,
appearances,
identities,
secrets,
dreams,
and sometimes survival itself.
A colonial closet protected scarce fabric and family valuables.
A modern closet may protect vulnerability, privacy, or carefully curated versions of the self presented to the world.
And perhaps every era builds closets differently because every era fears exposure differently.
1776 feared scarcity.
2026 often fears judgment.
Yet the strange beauty of human history may be this:
people continue searching for spaces safe enough to become fully themselves.
Sometimes that journey begins by opening a door.
Sometimes it begins by finally stepping out from behind one.