Wednesday, March 2, 2022
Renaissance Wear, Scarborough Flair: A Tried and True Trend for All Thymes
Saturday, May 22, 2021
Mall Crawl Before You Can Catwalk
After a year and two months of buying stuff only online, last weekend I busted out and went shopping IRL. Three weeks had passed since my second Pfizer shot, and I had a dentist appointment in a few days. So I thought it was time to mingle with the masses -- and see if I remembered how to drive. I chose my outfit carefully, settling on a navy sweater with a rainbow stripe in the middle, ripped jeans, navy crushed velvet flats with yellow socks, a quilted red and black shoulder bag, and a side pony tied with a red and white polka dot ribbon. It turned out to be way too warm -- I was sweating even before I crossed the parking lot! -- but I liked the look, so no regrets.
My first stop was Macy's. It was a Sunday, so it was crowded. I threaded through the racks, careful to avoid fellow shoppers even though they were masked. I visited my usual haunts, namely juniors, shoes, and costume jewelry, and was disheartened to come up empty. Everything was picked over, and what was there was lackluster. So I hotfooted it up to Macy's Backstage, which is the Marshalls clone section. Fashion-wise, it too was a wasteland, but I did find a cute picture frame, some pastel gnome salt and pepper shakers, and a pink potted faux succulent for my office. When it was my turn to pay, I slid my finds through the opening in the Plexiglass that separated the clerk and me. "I like your outfit," the clerk said, "It's very mall girl." "I'll take it," I answered. But that's where the good vibes ended. Because next he asked what brought me to Macy's, and I explained that it was my first outing in a year after getting vaccinated. "And you chose Macy's?" he asked, incredulous. "There are far better places!" I bit back the urge to retort, "I don't think Mr. Macy would agree," and instead gamely uttered, "Don't worry, I'll hit them all," meaning other stores. But that turned out to be the wrong tack to take. "You don't have to spend money! You can do anything!" he counseled, wrapping my $20 worth of baubles with the authority of a financial advisor trying to talk his client out of buying a Bentley. "Now go out and do something fun," he decreed, thrusting the bag at me as if it held dog poo. Oddly enough, this wasn't the first time I'd been shopping shamed by a clerk. But it was certainly the most dramatic. Nothing like dipping your toe back in the pool only to be tossed into the deep end!
My next and last stop was Kohl's. I was disappointed that there weren't any exciting clothes there either. However, I did score two rainbow rhinestone Simply Vera brooches and a faux wicker pineapple picnic server that I now use to store/display beads. This time the clerk was much kinder, so much so that she erred on the side of anxious. I felt for her. I wouldn't want to work in a store during a pandemic, wondering if each and every customer was carrying COVID.
So, was the expedition a success? Even before the quarantine, department stores were definitely on the decline. But being away from them for a year and then seeing them with fresh eyes made me realize that maybe they weren't so great in the first place. Online, you can find anything in any size, style, or color without having to settle for something just because you could reach out and touch it. Brick and mortar stores are always there for you, but they don't always have what you want. They're like that boring banker boyfriend who's punctual and remembers your birthday but whose stories about his coworker stealing his PB&J make you wish you were with a guy who doesn't wear a watch or have let alone manage a bank account. That said, the best part of the day was, shocker of shockers, the driving -- or, rather, rediscovering the radio (apparently, I like Machine Gun Kelly). There's just something about being out there on the road with no responsibilities, singing at the top of your lungs. Another surprise was the, ahem, pedestrian one of walking. Despite (sort of ) keeping up with my exercises, running in place in my living room just isn't the same as getting out of the house. Carrie Bradshaw once famously said "shopping is my cardio." But it wasn't until I became housebound that I realized it was mine too. That said, some shopping trips may not deliver the goods in terms of actual, well, goods. But they give you more than you bargained for in other (good!) ways.
So, yeah. It's nice to know I can still take on the world, snarky clerks and all. But that I don't have to if I don't want to.
Which means that next time I'll hit up Macy's online instead of heading Backstage.
Monday, December 11, 2017
Sad Mac Attack Strikes Again
That and don't ignore your laptop when it says its fan is broken for five years.
Monday, June 16, 2014
New Necklaces, New (Blog) Look
So I began the reorganization, an endeavor that required slogging through hundreds of old posts to decide which ones to link. It was a humbling experience, like reading old school papers or journal entries and wondering what the heck I was thinking. Which sort of gave me pause. Part of the problem of making posts more accessible is that they become . . . more accessible. Did I really want to give people a blueprint to musings that would be better off buried in the bowels of cyberspace? Because truth be told, my earliest ramblings were a little rough around the edges. For example, I sometimes fell prey to the break-the-fourth-wall habit of posing audience questions a la Zack Morris in "Saved by the Bell" or Carrie Bradshaw in early episodes of "Sex and the City." I'd end posts by asking, "What sorts of crafts do you like?," "What's your favorite piece of clothing?," and (that convenient catchall) "What do you think?" I've since dispensed with such queries, instead taking a strong but silent "you know what to do at the beep" approach to comments. Still, this was just one of many instances of cringe-worthy blog behavior that I uncovered; by the time I'd finished searching, I'd arrived at the following realizations: 1) I am a very silly woman, 2) I read a lot of cheeseball books, and 3) I seem to have no shame.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
TV Tuesday on a Thursday: Girls: Pearls and Pebbles
At the group's epicenter is Hannah (Durham), a twenty-four-year-old unpaid intern armed with an English degree and a half-written memoir. The episode opens with Hannah's parents, both professors (so that's how she got so brainy), telling her that they can no longer financially support her because - and this is pretty wrenching - they just don't want to. The kicker? Hannah's an only child, a fact she incredulously hurls in dear old mom and dad's faces in the elegant and dimly lit restaurant where they broke the news. It's an awful, hide-your-head-under-the-pillow moment, and, as I soon found, a fitting appetizer for what was to come. The next day Hannah asks her boss for a paying position only to be fired. Then she has some hard-to-watch sex with a heinous-looking guy who criticizes her tattoos. When she confides that she got them as a teenager to take control of her overweight body, he says that she should get them lasered off because she's "not that fat anymore." (Oh, the horror.) Then, to top it all off, she goes home to an unpalatable dinner party only to down a mug of opium. High on it and the advice of globe-trotting hippy dippy newcomer Jessa, she bursts into her parents' hotel room, announces that she's the voice of her generation, and demands that they read her memoir -- all moments before collapsing.
It's well done. You know, gritty, disturbing, and weird: your basic unvarnished, coming-of-age slice of life. I get it and there's a good chance I could have lived some version of it had I taken a different path. But I didn't enjoy watching it. I think I would have ten years ago, when I thought that all entertainment had to be painful and deep and different to be good. These days, though, I appreciate TV's lighter side. Luckily, there's a whole TV Guide's worth of laugh-track-happy programming out there to deliver me from my doldrums.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Book Report: The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Gone Shopping
Some people stock up on canned goods in case of a snowstorm, alien invasion, or nuclear holocaust. I stock up on fashion items. Sometimes I honestly feel as though I'm trying to squirrel away enough essentials, both funky and classic, to last me a lifetime in preparation for the day when I run out of spending money and can no longer shop. Don't ask me why I think this will happen; that would be like asking the can-hoarding Mrs. X why she fears a day when she won't be able to get her hands on green beans or fruit cocktail. All I know is, the shop-til-you-drop-for-survival game is one I've liked to play since high school.
January isn't quite half over, and I've already racked up an assortment of sweaters, tee shirts, and dresses, including a black and white tuxedo-style cocktail dress that I purchased from XOXO in a fit of Rebecca Bloomwood-style inspiration, thinking things like, "I could get invited to a cocktail party! Or a wedding! I'll wear it to every function! Everyone will know me as the girl in the black and white cocktail dress!" (For the uninitiated, Rebecca is the heroine of Sophie Kinsella's Confessions of a Shopaholic.) I would've included a picture of the dress here, but when I went to copy it from the site I discovered that it was sold out, and the picture gone. (Who knows? Maybe I even scored the last one.) I also nabbed some baubles from Etsy, namely a pair of pocket mirrors from Snappy Mirrors, one of which features The Golden Girls, and a selection of kitschy, produce-themed buttons from Sick on Sin that I look forward to pinning to various sweaters and handbags.
Yet even with a take like this, I fear the siege isn't over. I've got my eye on a trio of duct tape clutches, a collection of octopus pendant necklaces, and an anime cartoon-printed mini skirt, all from Etsy. The only saving grace is that I got most of my stuff on sale, if not clearance. This is the sort of twisted logic I use every time I amass a new mini wardrobe, rationalizing that Carrie Bradshaw would've spent more on a single pair of shoes. Never mind that Carrie Bradshaw is a fictional character. Or that every time I open my closet I'm pummeled by a rainbow of sweaters and jeans raining down from the top shelf.
Something tells me, though, that I'm not alone in my obsession. The cliché about women loving to shop is a cliché for a reason. So, what are your go-to guilty pleasure purchases? Clothes? Cosmetics? Kitchenware? Spooky porcelain dolls? (Each to her own.) This shopaholic wants to know. :)