Yesterday I went to the mall. While I love clothes and the concept of fashion-as-art, I truly hate to shop. I am all about end product and not at all about process. When it comes to HP and shopping, the destination is so not the journey.
The destination is, or should be, a collection of items appropriate for work and play, affordable, beautiful, and unique. But I find that this is rarely the case, most likely for two reasons:
1.) I don't relish the idea of looking like everyone else, thus it's difficult to shop when certain trends dominate every store.
2.) I am shaped weirdly. I guess that many women think that their shape is freakish and strange and in dire need of fixing, and I am no exception to this sad trend. What's strange though, is if it weren't for the clothing industry, I would probably be pretty content with my figure. Not to brag or anything (actually dammit, I have spent most of my life feeling the need to apologize for my shape, so perhaps some bragging is overdue) I happen to be shaped like an hourglass. I have largish boobs, a small waist, a nice booty. In other words, I am stacked. Sure, I could use some toning up, but the basic foundation is there and pretty solid. Perhaps luscious, even.
Whenever I read those columns in women's magazines, ideas for "fixing" my body type are never addressed. That fact, combined with the overflow of images in the media of buxom beauties whose cups runneth over in a variety of ways, leads me to believe that I pretty much got it going on.
Unfortunately, this information has yet to reach the ears of the clothing manufacturers of America, Taiwan, China, and wherever else clothes are mass-produced these days. According to such manufacturers, my body is weird. I mean, it must be because no pants seem to be cut for it. Yesterday at several stores I tried on at least three different cuts of pants in three different sizes and still walked away with no new pants. I must have tried on twenty pairs. While I considered ordering up a size and getting several pairs tailored down, this idea seemed like a waste of money given how cheap and insubstantial most of the pants felt to begin with.
Eventually I abandoned the pursuit altogether, resigned to the suspicion that perhaps I am simply destined to live my life in dresses and skirts. Which when you think about it, sounds like a far healthier approach to shopping than letting an inanimate object dictate your self esteem.
Other things that happened on my jaunt to the mall:
-I was addressed as "ma'am" about two dozen times, which I hate and makes me feel like an old woman. I don't even look my age. I should not be addressed as "ma'am". Ever. I don't care if it's considered polite in some parts of the country. Where I'm from it translates to "old person." Even my 61 year old mother has a problem with it.
-I was accosted not once, but twice by a sales rep from a hair flat iron kiosk. Since yesterday was an awesome hair day, and my ringlets were tumbling over my shoulders in wonderfully lazy, totally unfrizzy curls, I considered both instances to be something of an insult. I can't understand what society has against the naturally curly. Sure, I've been known to flat iron from time-to-time, but I've also been known to meticulously apply curling lotion section-by -section, to hair that has been only finger combed in the shower under running water and then carefully blotted with a tee shirt (terry cloth towels create frizz) and air dried for exactly ten minutes before having any product added to it. Presentable curly hair is a science, and I have it down. Thus, when the mall rats emerged from their shadows brandishing their curl-killers I felt that the only correct reaction would be to shriek like a little girl and run for cover in the closest Banana Republic.
-My secret favorite eating establishment in the Pentagon City Mall was confirmed: Nordstrom's Cafe. Clean, quiet and never crowded, it boasts a pleasing menu of salads and sandwiches. Bring a book and munch on some passable fare. It blows that creepy, stinky food court out the water. Look into it.
Despite the inherent negativities of the mall, I did accomplish a small chunk of what I set out to do. These tasks were both difficult, and I am pleased to report that I emerged with colors flying.
1.) I bought two pairs of comfortable, relatively attractive shoes. Given my old lady feet, it's extremely hard for me to find shoes that feel good on my feet that aren't incredibly ugly. I have lived in Dansko clogs for ages, but they're not right for summer and they're really spectacularly ugly. So to find two pairs of reasonably priced shoes that don't hurt my eyes was a bit of a coup. I even showed tremendous disciple in not buying the black Cole Haan slip-ons that felt like butter on my feet. Next time, maybe.
2.) I found a bra that fits. You know how sometimes when you try on bras in the store they fit fine, and then once you get them home they morph into these bizarre beasts that totally do not fit at all, whatsoever and you wonder how on earth you convinced yourself that the garment was a good buy in the first place? Well, I am pretty sure that is not the case with this bad gal. Granted it's beige and pretty boring, but it seems to be the correct size and shape for me, which is way more important than frills and sex appeal at this point.
In typing that, I realize that caring more about undergarment fit than sexiness is a definite sign that I am getting old. Perhaps all those people with their ma'ams weren't so far off after all.
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