Here's how shopping for clothing goes for me. My dislike of clothes' shopping starts at the rack and culminates in the dressing room. First, the rack. I am always drawn to that rack of clothing that I have no business exploring. You know, the one with all the cute little (little being the operative word here) dresses that they put in the very front of the clothing section to draw all the young, toned, size minus zero girls (girls being the operative word here) to? Yep, that rack always lures me in.
I immediately fall head over heels in love with a fantastic looking dress. A-line, just the shade of green that I have been looking for, perfect length, but they don't have my *size*. Let me pause here and express my opinion on clothing *sizes*. They are hogwash. Not acid wash or white wash. Hogwash. Whatever standard we are using to measure and cut our clothing these days must have been dreamed up by vengeful extraterrestrials, still upset over the Roswell incident.
And while we are on the subject of sizes and extraterrestrials, I have to say that European sizes are just as wonky. I found that out first hand when I went into a boutique in Manhattan in February. I couldn't resist this place. It was actually an old stone church that had been converted into this gorgeous clothing store, full of glitzy clothes and glamorous people. And there was this rack, with these jeans. Gold jeans. Pete even liked them and encouraged me to try them on. Then this 7 foot tall Euro-goddess came over and asked me if I wanted to try on those "fabulous jeans". She had to go all the way to the back of the rack before she finally found my *size*. Then she started a dressing room for me, and I proceeded to try on the 27 different shirts she brought me to go with the gold jeans. After a half an hour of fashion flop, Euro-Goddess had beads of sweat on her forehead. Nothing worked. Her stylist ego was bruised. Euro-Goddess blamed it on the Euro sizes, I blamed it on my non-European hips and butt.
The final nail in the clothing coffin for me is the dressing room. Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! As I enter the dressing room, I already have a self-induced clothing disadvantage with my poorly selected pieces that looked like Versace on the rack, but somehow have morphed into Ver-not-ce on the journey from the rack to the fitting room.
Then there is the issue of the lighting in the fitting room - florescent lighting that is. Because nothing flatters you more than flickering blue light straight out of a Twilight Zone episode. Also, I'm convinced that the mirrors in dressing rooms are recycled carnival funhouse mirrors. Want to see how you would look if you were 3 feet tall and 500 pounds? Just check out yourself in a dressing room mirror.
Finally, what's with the music in dressing rooms? Somehow I just don't think that "All Cried Out" by Lisa Lisa and The Cult Jam would help anyone's state of mind, especially someone who is trying on ill fitting clothing, surrounded by carnival mirrors, and seizure inducing flickery blue light.
So, shopping for clothes is not my thing, but I have to do it every once in awhile because clothing is not an option in our society. Usually, I just order stuff online, but I also find some of my clothes at COSTCO or BJ's. Since these places do not have dressing rooms, I end up having to return some things, but I usually have some keepers. Like this past week, when I found some really cool Philosophy by Republic maxi skirts at BJ's for $14.99! The were regularly $68! Oh, and Old Navy has the whole BOGO thing going on with their t-shirts until April 24.
BJ's Maxi skirt + Old Navy BOGO t-shirt - dreaded dressing room =
Hugs,
Melissa
P.S. I love all of my Euro readers, even though your clothes do not fit my ample American body.
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