Not shopping, but still thinking about shopping

Today I am thankful that my mom is healthy and strong and that I like her.

A few poorly organized additional thoughts on my shopping experience.  I have stepped away from the credit card and weaned myself from the rush for a moment.  But my replacement drug is now going to be blogging about shopping, which costs only time.

I realize I made a misstep by not reorganizing my closet before I started shopping.  I once hired a wardrobe consultant, and the best thing she taught me was to reorganize my closet at the beginning of a new season.  The weather has been so dreary and cold that I’ve kept my woolly, wintry stuff right where I can see it, and my lighter spring and summer clothes off to the side.  When I switched them a few days ago (which is really a small switch, because a lot of my clothes are year-round), I realized that I have more spring clothes that I like than I thought.  I was sure I had a skirt crisis.   That’s because I have a dearth of fall skirts that fit properly and look good.  But I’m quite full up for spring.  One of my verrrryyy expensive new skirts is going back to the store.

My new clothes have made me more creative.   Now that I have new clothes, I can see possibilities that I didn’t see before.  I wonder if I should have started more slowly, with just a few new purchases to get my imagination going, rather than filling up all at once.  On the other hand, there’s something nice about feeling done.  And at the moment, until the gasp-inducing credit card bill arrives, the pleasant feeling of doneness is more powerful than the wrenching feeling of spending too much or spending badly.

I should shop for shoes online, and nowhere else.  That’s counter-intuitive, I know.  But when I order shoes online, I can wear them around the office for several hours to see how they fit.  I usually return them because they don’t fit like I want them to.  I returned the $40 sandals I ordered last week after 15 minutes of wear.  The 85% off, no-return shoes I bought at the store were a ridiculous purchase.  I was a fool to tell myself that ill-fitting shoes could be  fixed with foot pads.   I’m going to the shoe repair expert later this week to see if he can make my pumps into Mary Janes or t-straps so that they will stay on my feet.  If not, then I’ll sell the shoes at a consignment store and get half my money back.  The stupidity tax will be $30 a pair.

I want to be the kind of person who shops at charming, independently owned shops that contribute to the community and where the proprietor knows my name.  But I bought the ridiculous shoes in a shop like that, because they know my name, and I feel self-conscious whenever I go there because I only ever buy things on sale and I fear they think I’m cheap (if only!).  Yesterday I was in another store like that (where the adorable owner knows my name even though I almost never buy anything from her), and I looked at the price tags of the charming, ecologically responsible jackets and cardigans made from recycled and repurposed textiles and thought, “Wow, $225 for a cotton jacket? $185 for a short-sleeved cardigan?  That’s really expensive!”  The mass-market, mass-produced, artificial fiber, plastic-wrapped cheap goods have seduced me, at least this time around.  I did get two organic cotton t-shirts.  The experimental blazer was from a consignment shop, which is a bit like recycling (I had the odd experience of seeing a woman on the street wearing an ex-blouse of mine.  I’m pretty sure it was my ex-blouse.  I didn’t want to stop and introduce myself as the first owner.  It would have been awkward and stalker-ish.)  The next time I start buying, I’ll divide my budget between mass market and conscience-salving clothes.

There is a lot of serious and difficult stuff happening in the big world, and even in little worlds of people’s homes, and here I am nattering on about shopping.  I hope it can be a distraction, or a source of humor, or maybe you want to skip these posts and come back for the struggle.  It’s all true to life.  Take the parts you want.  I’m the only one who needs all of it.