It’s one of the most self-loathing errands for the female species, well at least for the sporty spice tomboy chick in me. I may get kicked out of the girls club for this one, but I have to admit, I hate shopping. I hate the mall. I hate the dressing room mirror.
The three-hour saga at the mall is something I do not look forward to, which is probably why I’m a t-shirt and jeans kind of chick, and when I go to work I’m a slacks and collared shirt chick. Same old, same old. Nothing new.
But sometimes when I see these fashion-conscious ladies throughout the mall or just hanging out, I may feel a little bad. But then again they probably spend a lot of time looking in dressing room mirrors, and then I don’t feel bad at all.
I’m not a big fan of trying on clothes. It’s not so much the confined space, the funky carpet, the skinny mirrors that lie to you and make you think you look good in that outfit, or the waiting in line part when the other chicks begin checking you out and then checking out your clothes. It’s the mannequin.
Image via digitaljournal.com
It always looks better on the mannequin, with those clothes pins or safety pins pulling the shirt back in just the right spots. I know for a fact that the clothes are not going to look as good as they did when the mannequin was wearing them. Even the headless ones rock those outfits. I’m always disappointed. The mannequin gives me false hope. They need more realistic mannequins — the kind based on women with curves. Not that I have many spectacular curves, but I’m Latin. I’ve got some stuff.
So if I have to go shopping, I try to stay away from stores with multiple mannequins in their skinny jeans and training bra apparel. I go for the folded section where no one is wearing my clothes, and most of the time these are the t-shirts, collared shirts, and jeans sections.
I’m not a fan of the greeters either, trying to lure me in with all that nice attitude at the beginning, but where are they when I’m having a hostile episode in the dressing room, because my mom body with all the boobaliciousness doesn’t fit into these cool clothes. Where are they when all the stalls are closed and I’m waiting for anyone to pass by and offer to open them up. You try to flag someone down, but they always seem to be in a rush for inventory or the cashier stand.
And then you have the cashiers. Always trying to get you to save fifteen percent. If you open an account today, you can save fifteen percent. It’s really easy. Yeah easy with the 21% APR. Moms forget stuff constantly and you really don’t want to forget a bill like that. It’s bad credit entrapment. Fifteen percent just one time isn’t that great, unless you’re spending a thousand dollars or something. And I’ve never spent a thousand dollars on anything that didn’t need a plug and wasn’t from Best Buy.
But they continue pushing and I’ll can do is try to be as polite as possible in rejecting them. Sometimes it’s a weird confrontation, like a Jehovah Witness knocking on your door Saturday morning. You politely say no, but they keep coming back with God on their mind, trying to convince you to find Jesus, when you know you haven’t really lost him. Cashiers are like that sometimes.
A friend of mine suggested online shopping, but that’s a whole other animal, especially if you’re trying to return something. You’d have to go to the crowded post office, where you always forget your pen, and then deal with the process.
No. Shopping just doesn’t seem to be something for me. I’m more of a in-and-out purchaser. You know what you want, you go get it, pay for it, and get out. But sometimes this system fails me and I need more depth in my Costco wholesale wardrobe. Sometimes I need more mannequin. I’ll still hate it though.
The Wish Factor 