In a bow on a present. Looped around a pony-tail. As blue satin sashes on girl in white dresses. Trimming a pillow, or a tree. Replacing a necklace chain. Instead of string as a reminder on your finger.
Stacked in spools. Or flowing loose by the metre. A snippet saved from a fancily wrapped box.
I love ribbons. I love them in all their incantations, and for their multitude of uses. Though I love my new home in New Brunswick, there is one thing that I miss more than anything about my home in Toronto, and that is the Queen Street fashion district, where there are endless suppliers of ribbons and various other trims. Premier amongst these is of course Mokuba. I could easily wile away hours stroking the ribbons on their spools, as I surreptitiously wiped the drool from my chin. I most loved the subtle sheen of the organza ribbon selection and the subtle colour gradation and smooth texture of the silk ribbons.
I also have an utter weakness for the luxurious colours and textures of vintage velvet ribbons, and the feel of running a finger along a cheerily coloured slice of grosgrain.
There is nothing in this world that can not be made nicer with just a simple piece of ribbon. I keep every scrap of ribbon that I come across and I hoard it like a monkey in a banana tree. There is a certain romance and joy in the simplicity of the ribbon that makes it one of my most favorite things.