Shopping in Reality

The only way I'm not going to come home with black and gray clothes to add to those I already own is if  I successfully imagine I'm the next guest on What Not To Wear. If I am able to pretend that the two well-dressed, likable, fashion-smart people who help clueless shoppers go from a closet full of overalls and torn Led Zeppelin t-shirts to looking like they're ready for an evening in an art gallery are here with me in Macy's, then I will be a better, happy me.

I can pretend this. I am good at this imagining. I've been doing this sort of delusional thinking ever since 5th grade when I imagined a gymnastics scout was waiting until after class to sign me up for The Olympics after he'd seen me do a back bend in gym.

Really, I just need clothes for springtime, but each time I go to a store, I stall in front of the jeans, I pick up shapeless shirts, I run my hand along a rack of dresses, and then I leave the store with a new pair of socks and a dishtowel. Nothing saves me from myself. This is my pattern.  I need Stacy and Clinton.

Each episode starts with a friend or family member who has written to Stacy and Clinton to share the secret of the friend or family member who can't dress herself.  The victim dresses in clothes she's been wearing since middle school.  She leaves the house looking like she's forgotten to take off her pajamas or her Halloween costume, and she does this every day.  When she gets over the shame of having been lovingly yet underhandedly pointed out by her friend/family member, she often cries, telling how she hates to shop, how her life is sadder than you'd expect.  So Stacy and Clinton tell her she's worth it. They give her design tips. Look for color! No more black! Try a heel!  And they send her off by herself to Manhattan where she's left in a store with all these new tips, and where she inevitably succumbs to depression, falls into her well-worn habits, and leaves the store with new socks and a dishtowel.

No one has turned me in.  I really do just need clothes for springtime. So I head for Macy's. I have never, ever found a thing to buy at Macy's. I hate Macy's. But with Stacy and Clinton by my side (in my head), I will find a wardrobe. You two are so great. I appreciate your kind words. (And no,I tell them, I don't need the high heels they are sure I can walk in, the perfect jacket they assure me everyone needs in order to go from office to evening when all I need for that is a bathrobe, and I don't need a dress that comes across me on the diagonal to create the illusion of a full bust line.)  Thanks though. For now, you can help me find tops that don't make me look like I'm hiding the belly I'm trying to hide, pants that don't button just under the belly I'm trying to hide under my new top, and maybe a dress that doesn't make me look like a flight attendant or someone's old aunt.

I hear Stacy and Clinton whispering to each other as I stall in front of a sales rack where the sweaters that have languished on hangers for over 7 months have almost completed their sagging as their uneven sleeves brush the floor.Where the only jeans available are ones with sequins and supposedly stylish holes. "Oh no, what is she doing?" they whisper. "She's not picking up anything we told her to pick up!"  "Not those slacks! Put them back!"

And this is where my auditory hallucinations end.  Stacy doesn't appear by my side to then suggest the adorable tops I've missed, the pants I didn't even know I could consider, the shoes I could wear to work then to the symphony like that ever happens. No, it's still me.  Me and the shapeless top and the dark jeans, looking for more shapeless tops in spring-like beige.

The problem with delusions is, well for me at least, I can't delude myself into a different ending. I don't end up uncovering my hidden style, crying with pride and glowing from the transformation. I don't end up going to the end-of-the-show party where the shopper enters a room full of the people who turned her in in the first place and are now crying over her amazing appearance.  The truth is if I showed up in makeup, bright colors and tailored pants the next day at work, I would spend the whole day hoping no one noticed.

I sneak out of the store before Stacy and Clinton can stop me.