2005-01-08 - 11:06 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "In the Mood", To My Surprise

Y'know, shopping would be a heck of a lot easier for me if I was more decisive. I'm not naturally a decisive person. I'm a ditherer. A waffler. A hemmer and hawer.

DITHERING

If it's tweed or a Pucci-style print, I can be slightly decisive, since I definitely love both of those things, although I will fuss deciding which color if there are multiple options. Unfortunately, I think I've reached a saturation point with both of those things and have to restrain myself from buying them now. I keep wanting to buy more pink tweed coats even though I already have one I'm crazy about.

If it's neither tweed nor Pucci, then lord help me. I will spend fifteen minutes trying to decide what color of sweater to get, whether to even get it at all, fussing over whether the color works with my complexion even though it definitely works with the pants I've got back home. It's ridiculous. I'll do this for half an hour and then walk out of the store without buying anything.

The upshot of all this is that I think I spend too much time shopping. I need to figure out how to cut down on that. Up until now, I wanted to make my purchase decisions right then mainly because I didn't want to make a second trip back to the store to pick up something. (I'm also afraid someone else will take the only one in my size, which happens way too often everywhere except Ann Taylor Loft and Petite Sophisticate, but ordering through web sites may help with that.) But I think I'm spending more time dithering in the store than I'd spend making a return trip. I'm thinking perhaps I need to walk through a store, look at everything, try stuff on, and then go home and do my dithering while I do excruciatingly boring things like wash the dishes, shave my legs, brush my teeth, or wait in line at the post office when I've forgotten my book.

Another reason for the dithering is my constant triumph of hope over experience. There is a beautiful pair of blue tweed pants at Ann Taylor. When I first saw them in Union Station after my company holiday party, they were $90, marked down from $130. I tried to forget them. I mean, they're blue tweed, which is not exactly classic (they are closer to periwinkle than the grey they look in the picture). But my insane love for the fabric won out, so I went to the local store and tried 'em on. They fit funny in the hips. I tried to forget 'em. Then Ann Taylor sent me an e-mail announcing there's an additional 40% off, meaning the pants were now $54. So I went back to the store, tried 'em on again, and stood in front of the mirror turning this way and that, trying desperately to figure out if I could make them work. I couldn't. They fit funny in the hips and were too loose in the thigh. It's just sad. Why can't I listen to my voice of reason ("YOU DO NOT LIKE THE FIT OF THESE PANTS NO MATTER HOW GIDDY YOU FEEL ABOUT THE BLUE TWEED") the first time around? ARGH. I wonder if I take digital pictures in the dressing room of things like that, if I can look at the picture any time I feel hope surging.

You decisive in-and-out shoppers are ready to KILL me right about now, aren't'cha?

MATCHING COLORS

If you thought I had too much tweed, get this: I looked around at my new handbag collection one day and came to the realization that I essentially have the same type of purse in ten different colors and sizes. They are all satchels. Now, satchels can look wildly different as far as fabrics, width, length, hardware, etc. But they're still identifiable as a satchel, kinda like you can always identify a sedan as opposed to a pickup. I've tried to like other types of handbags, but it just doesn't seem to be working. Last night I went into Target and got all excited about a white satchel. This after looking for a white purse I liked for over six months, scouring the clearance racks. I tried to resist it, but the fact was that I JUST LIKE SATCHELS DAMMIT, so I bought it. I did manage, however, to get a little tiny aqua bag that I actually think is not a satchel. If you can believe that. My goal was to have a cute cheap bag in every color I wear regularly, so I can match my colors, and I think I have everything but plum now. I like my colors to match.

Good thing I don't care about following trends too closely, because matching one's colors seems to be a fashion faux pas these days. Supposedly we should be "mixing it up" (colors and fabrics) and not being too matchy-matchy. This is a physical impossibility for me. I am all about the matching. I can't seem to match colors unless one of them is a neutral (brown, black, ivory, camel). I saw a picture in Lucky magazine of a girl wearing an outfit that looked insane to me and this is one trend there is no way in hell I'm going to adopt. The freaky thing is that I like each individual piece she's wearing (except maybe for the seemingly-shapeless ivory thing she's got on) but the combination makes me cringe:

So many beautiful pieces, such a dreadful combination.

Another combination that made me cringe was this one, although again, I like each individual piece:

If that picture was black and white, I'd freakin' LOVE the outfit. But in color, I don't. I can't mix grey/silver and warm shades of brown. To me it just looked like the girl closed her eyes, reached into her closet for each piece, and wore the first thing she found regardless of what color it was. Poindexter looked at the picture and said, "If anybody who wasn't that pretty tried to wear that, people would be horrified."

Here's another picture of the green coat, which I have fallen madly in love with and worn every day since I decided to keep it. In this photo you can see how it tapers to a lower length in the back. Notice also that I am letting the coat have all the color in this outfit. I didn't even like how it looked with lighter blue jeans.

previous index next