Trolling for Bargains: A Fond Farewell to Macy's of Voorhees

Trendy Toys Charm Necklace

Tee: Macy's

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Earmuffs, Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

Once upon a time, the Echelon Mall was the place to be.  It was the mall of my childhood, the place where I'd pick out my "prize" after every dentist's visit, embark on first day of school shoe shopping sprees, and gorge on My Favorite Muffins (I still miss you, pineapple cheese).  Its premier department store was Strawbridge & Clothier, which seemed like a more glamorous yet humbler Macy's.  Then, when I was in my twenties, Strawbridge went out of business, and the Voorhees store morphed into a Macy's.  Not long after that, some of the other stores started closing, and the Echelon Mall turned into the Voorhees Town Center, encompassing a new crop of nearby condos and restaurants.  These days, even Macy's is splitting the scene, leaving only Boscov's, an Auntie Anne-less (not to mention My Favorite Muffin-less) food court, and a smattering of doctors' and realtors' offices.  Yes, you read that right.  This mall no longer has an Express or a Hallmark, but if you're looking for a two-story colonial, then you've hit pay dirt.

So, I had to get to Macy's before it locked up for good.  On one hand, I was nostalgic and wanted to see what it looked like.  On the other, I was an accessory-a-holic intrigued to gawk at the weird stuff on offer.

Oddly, the most noteworthy items were the mannequins.  Naked and in various stages of dismemberment, they stood sentinel in what was once the children's department.  It was like the "Westworld" prop closet, and I couldn't help but snap a few pictures.

And good thing, too. Tammy (the Torso, a.k.a. my mannequin) was over the moon to see her brothers and sisters.  Even if Kim Cattrall had gone suspiciously AWOL.  (Although I did hear that Andrew McCarthy was caught smuggling out a life-size Santa.)

That macabre merriment out of the way, I was free to feast on the spoils.  Such as they were.  The Macy's overlords had clearly ferried in lots of old stock from some secret warehouse, and it looked as out of place and embarrassed as a new, slightly awkward zoo creature.  For one thing, the entrance of the juniors section was glutted with Lady Gaga/Elton John paraphernalia from some long-ago, unsuccessful merch mashup.  You'd think such a duo would inspire a colorful array of products, but, alas, every top, scarf, bag, and water bottle was black and white with a sad dab of lilac.  The other big come-on was an influx of Betsey Johnson Trolls accessories, which had been created to coincide with the movie of the same name.  Now, I have to pause a beat to explain just how off-put I was by the cinematic reincarnation of my favorite bridge-dwelling buddies.  The trolls of yesteryear were awesome . . . because they were ugly.  Don't get me wrong.  They were most definitely the cute kind of ugly, all endearing scrunched-up faces and unruly hair (as evidenced by the notebooks and attic escapee below).  

But that was part of their charm, whether they cavorted in wizard or princess costumes or just bare-assed in mall kiosks across this great nation.  That said, I gave the svelte, smooth-faced, sleek-haired newcomers the stink eye (no disrespect to Justin Timberlake or Anna Kendrick).  Not only was I not going to see the movie, I was most certainly not going to support these new-fangled upstarts by buying wearables emblazoned with their likeness.  Of course, that was before I received a darling pair of hot pink Betsey Johnson Trolls earmuffs for my birthday.  "Alright, no big deal," I thought, parading around with them in 50-degree weather, "they're just earmuffs; no one can tell that they're from the Trolls line."  But then I went ahead and ordered a trolls-printed tee shirt from Macy's, rationalizing that it was okay because I just liked the colors, and also because it was only $3.00.  So, when I was met with a mountain of pink, turquoise, and black earmuffs in the outerwear department of Macy's that day, I was terribly tempted by the turquoise (which should surprise no one, as this blog is filled with accounts of me declaring my hatred for things only to fall headlong in love with them).  I marched up to the makeshift counter with my 80% off find only to be told that that register was for real fur purchases only.  Well, excuse me for preferring unnaturally colored and sensibly priced synthetics to costly animal pelts.  I stalked off to another counter, where the sales clerk smirked as she attacked the label of my fuzzy new friend with an angry black marker, lest I try to reclaim my $6.40 at some still-solvent Macy's.  Indeed, the once-obsequious staff had turned kind of surly (not that I blame them, what with getting the boot -- and I don't mean Manolos). 

I (ahem) trolled the rest of the Betsey Johnson trinkets in search of more souvenirs but didn't have the heart to get another necklace or purse charm.  You know how sometimes you buy stuff that you don't really want?  Just because it's cheap and it's there?  Like, if you had a bag of Oreos and you ate the whole thing even if you didn't like Oreos very much?  Wait, what am I saying?  Everyone loves Oreos!  Let's go with Triscuits instead.  Because that's how I felt about shopping that day.  Content with my parting gift of electric blue fluff and in no mood to force down whole-wheat crackers.  So I left that old mausoleum/museum in search of a store that would endure forever.

In other words, I went on Amazon.

Hello, Dolly: Dressing for the Decades

In my world, paper dolls are having a moment.  First there were those holiday horses, and now I have a troop of twentieth (and some twenty-first!) century trendsetters, which I also received as a gift (hey, even I don't buy myself paper dolls).  I have another paper doll book somewhere (it may be international-themed), about which I'll happily blog should it ever surface.  But for now it's all about the styles of the times and -- ahem -- the timeless styles.

Flipping through the glossy pages of Sticker Fashionista Vintage Style, I was hard-pressed to pick my favorite fashion era.  Was I most drawn to the prim and pretty parasols of the early 1900s, or was the structured, starlet-inspired glamour of the 1940s more of my thing?  Then there were the mod and boho silhouettes of the 1960s and the outrageous rock opera opulence of the 1980s.  At first, I was tempted to say, the farther back the better; give me a time when women were women and there was no such thing as too much lace.  Yet as much as I loved the idea of an epoch in which wearing a dress was an everyday occurrence, I couldn't deny that turn-of-the-century style was a little constricting (and I don't just mean the corsets).  Back then, women didn't have a whole lot of wiggle room in terms of colors, patterns, embellishments, and accessories - not to mention footwear (we've all seen pictures of those horrid buckled booties).  And let's not forget that to be too showy was to risk being regarded as (at best) racy and (at worst) as a lady of the night.  This sort of straight and narrow sartorial approach seemed to rule the runways (and walkways) until the 1960s, that shining beacon of anything goes.  That was when things really took off with tie-dye and feathers and psychedelic patterns, go-go and flower child aesthetics running amok in different directions.  Still, my clotheshorse heart belongs to the 1980s, an inevitability I blame on Jem and Madonna and Prince.  The ruffly, one-shouldered, white-and-black polka dot dress pictured above gets my vote for top frock, even if I did dilute its power by teaming it with that Lady Gaga-inspired cherry headband filched from the 2000s section.

Speaking of which, a very cool part of Vintage Style is its last couple of pages, in which you're invited to create the looks of today by mixing and matching pieces from the 100+ years worth on offer in the preceding pages.  I didn't photograph my efforts because they weren't all that great, an outcome that I wholeheartedly attribute to the slim pickings that remained by the time I got to the end of the book (that's my story, and I'm sticking to it).  But the premise got me thinking about how weird it is that you can't pin down the trends of the times when you're actually in them.  When I was a preteen watching everyone run around in sunflower-print slip dresses, denim vests, flannel shirts, and overalls, I didn't think, they're part of a minimalist neo-hippie fashion movement that resulted in response to the excess of the 1980s.  I just thought, those are the cool kids, and that's what they wear.  (I, on the other hand, was still rocking stretch pants and oversized sweaters like the ones favored by the mom on "The Goldbergs," as well as some pretty rad large-and-in-charge hair accessories from Claire's Boutique.  I still think about my old resin strawberry-shaped clip, which was so big that it sometimes fell off my head.  I wish I still had it, in no small part because I have a lot more hair now.)

I wonder which of today's wardrobe staples will have made their mark by the time we're looking at them through the lens of the future.  More importantly, I wonder what we'll be wearing while we're laughing at them. 

Un-Photo Shoot Friday and a Weezer Review

This is me standing outside the Borgata last Saturday night, just before the bf and I went in to see Weezer. (I'm aware that there should probably be a picture of Weezer here instead of me. But I'm sketchy about copying pictures and squeamish about stealing bandwidth, so this is all I've got.) This outfit is no masterpiece - just a fun XOXO top, skinny jeans, and sparkly accessories. Sometimes it's nice to put on something that's cute without all the fuss.

As soon as I spotted the Weezer billboard before the toll on the Atlantic City Expressway last month I knew we had to go to the show. I'll admit that I sometimes go to concerts that I'm lukewarm about just to have something to do. But this wasn't one of those deals. I was so excited that I imagined everyone else felt the same way and that the show would immediately sell out. So, I was poised and ready at my computer at 10:00 a.m. on the Saturday morning when the tickets first went on sale. I think I got them sometime around 10:06. And then I kept checking the rest of the day, gleefully hoping the show would be sold out so I could feel some sense of accomplishment. It didn't sell out until the Friday before the show, though.

The show was in the Borgata's Event Center, a venue I'd not yet visited. Unlike the intimate Music Box, it turned out to be a huge empty ballroom with no chairs. I had known it was standing room only but, in my usual way, had expected something splashy, in this case a palatial, multi-layered room gleaming with black and chrome. (Silly, I know. I blame such delusions on all that fiction I read.) The bf and I settled in with our drinks, carving out our floor space amidst the masses until Weezer finally emerged onstage to the usual screams and applause.

They played everything you'd expect them to: "Hash Pipe," "Troublemaker," "The Sweater Song" (they substituted the narration parts with funny stuff about Fruit Loops. Or maybe it was Fruity O's), "Perfect Situation," "My Name is Jonas," "Beverly Hills," "Say it Ain't So" (my personal favorite), and, of course, the now ubiquitous "(If You're Wondering if I Want You To), I Want You To," all under the blinking lights of the signature Weezer "W." Is it me, or does it sort of look like the WWF symbol?

It wasn't until they'd returned from their first mock exit that they played "Pork and Beans" and their famed cover of MGMT's "Kids" and Lady Gaga's "Pokerface," all while front man Rivers Cuomo bopped around in a blond wig. After this they shuffled off the stage again, boos and other epithets rising in their wake to urge them to return. The band waited a respectable few minutes or so before reappearing with beach balls. Which could mean only one thing -- "Island in the Sun." I was happy to hear it, "hip hipping" along with everyone else, but couldn't help thinking, "What about "Buddy Holly?"' I am such a nerd sometimes, and a gullible one at that, because of course they, as do all bands, were saving the best for last. That song came out about sixteen years ago, when I was in the sixth grade. This made me feel kind of old. But also nostalgic. For when I first began to appreciate music, that is, not for the sixth grade, which was characteristically hellish.

And then "Buddy Holly" came to a halt and that was it. The room emptied slowly into the glittering casino. Although I'd seen it many times before, I drank it all in, loving all the lights and colors. Then we were outside. My feet were killing me, all crunched up in my impractical round-toed pumps, so the bf gallantly gave me a piggyback ride to the car. If that's not romance, then I don't know what is.

Today I listened to Weezer's Blue album to and from work. And on my lunch break run, overplaying my favorites. Hey, I told you I was a nerd.