Yes, today's quote is by me, not Dottie Parker. I looked, but there doesn’t seem to be any attributed to her about our topic: shopping. I love to shop. No, I mean I really LOVE to shop. I know it’s soooo stereotypical that women enjoy this pastime, but there is truth in stereotypes, otherwise how’d they get to be stereotypes? People get so defensive when you talk about stereotypes, as though it’s politically incorrect, like driving a Hummer… or being Republican… but come on! YOU people need to lighten up. And besides, I’m not ashamed of my love for shopping, I’m like a mighty huntress armed with my keen sense of style and my husband’s spectacular credit. You see, for me it’s more about the search than the sale, the pursuit rather than the purchase, the quest more than the coif.
I started looking for bargains out of necessity. I was poor. (Key violin music.) I had to work my way through college as my father died and my mother had enough to worry about keeping herself smartly dressed and supporting the local Merle Norman cosmetics store. So, I sought out thrift shops and their ilk as a way to supplement my wardrobe. Besides, when you’re in college you’re expected to dress funky and somewhat bohemian… I’m pretty sure it’s a law or something. Anyway, I remember paying 50 cents for this very cool black corduroy man’s blazer with leather patches on the elbows, worn green over the years. My sisters and I were attending some function at McCormick Place in Chicago where it cost $1.00 to check your coat. I turned to Mary and said, “No way I’m paying a buck to check this, it only cost 50 cents. I’ll stick it in a corner somewhere and if it’s not there when we get back, I’m only out the 50 cents, not a whole dollar!” She laughed and insisted on footing the bill for its safekeeping. Good thing, too because that’s the downside of items obtained at thrift stores, it’s not like I could have gone back there and found an identical very cool black corduroy man’s blazer with leather patches on the elbows, worn green over the years… pretty much, it’s one of a kind.
I graduated college, thank you very much, and actually scored a good paying job. I was able to afford Marshall Field’s clothes instead of field marshal’s clothes from the army/navy surplus. I was heady with excitement over having disposable income for the first time in my life. Like the proverbial drunken sailor (I had the drunken part down) I went full steam ahead and disposed of it with abandon. The girls at the Lancome counter at Lord and Taylor knew me by name. I thought nothing of spending $100.00 on a pair of shoes, $45.00 on a scarf, $90.00 on a blouse… and this was in the mid-eighties when cigarettes cost 75 cents a pack (sigh) and the average home in California cost under a hundred thousand… hey, wait a minute… Anyway, you get the point … I spent, baby. I earned it and I blew it just as quickly, every last nickel. But boy, was my closet full!
Years passed, checking account balances rose and fell, I’ve changed jobs and husbands, (although not with the same frequency) but never quite shook the habit of occasionally haunting the thrift stores. One can obtain the strange and exotic at these little treasure troves. I found a fake leopard skin purse years before animal prints came back into vogue. My girlfriends used to be mortified to be seen with me and Spot (yes, I named it) but I didn’t care. I wanted to distinguish myself from the ordinary. As the youngest in my family, I’m a born show-off. I feel our clothing choices tell the world something. I fancy mine announces, “Look at me! Look at me! Aren’t I clever? Aren’t I quirky?” Which is really pathetic, but there you have it.
Good fortune smiled its benevolent beam on me when I met my current (read: final) and hand’s down best husband. Steve is very smart, has a good job, generous, and is most indulgent. Not a bad combination in a spouse if you ask me. He is a bit, um… how do I put this as he reads these articles… conventional (read: square). Oh sure, I’ve jazzed him up a bit since our betrothal - he’s got earrings, tattoos, a new haircut (something from the 1990’s at least), and replaced those horrid brown glasses he used to wear, but he’s still very much “New England” in his sensibilities. Simply put, he is sometimes embarrassed by my antics. Like that time we were at the Muir Beach Overlook and I was really hot so I took my clothes off. I mean, I wasn’t laying there naked or anything, I still had my bra and panties on. Mr. F. was all, “Put your clothes on for crying out loud! What’s the matter with you?” I know, right? What’s the big deal? It’s just like being in a bikini but Steve thought it was just this side of scandalous to disrobe in public. Isn’t he cute?
Another source of discomfort for my long-suffering husband is when people compliment something I’m wearing and I’m compelled to tell them where I bought it and how much I paid. “Cute skirt, Bon,” someone will say. “Thanks! I got it at a thrift shop and it only cost $3.00!” I’ll answer proudly. I can actually feel Steve’s eyes roll when I say this. He says that people will think he makes me shop at second-hand stores because he’s parsimonious ($10.00 word for ‘stingy’, but you dear readers deserve the best). “We can afford for you to shop at Nordstrom’s if you want to.” But that’s the thing… I don’t want to. I had a very wealthy great aunt who used to say, “Anyone can dress well if they spend a lot on their clothes but it really speaks of one’s good sense if they can look fashionable without spending a lot of money.” Bless you, Aunt Rose. Besides, after my little spree back when I got my first real job out of college, I came to appreciate the wisdom in her words. Sure, I could shop at Walmart or Kmart and outfit myself for a pittance, but I’d rather scout for a Michael Kor’s suit at Ross or better yet Anna’s Attic (my fave local thrift store) for the same amount of dough I’d spend at one of the ‘Marts. Just last year I got a Brooks Brother’s 100% camel hair blazer at Anna’s for $5.00. ‘Course it cost me 30 to have it cleaned, but still… It really is all about the thrill of the hunt. It’s like I’m putting one over on the man. I realize, of course, not everyone has the time and patience… or access to really amazing second-hand stores and frankly, I’m relieved. After all, I don’t want everyone’s clothes proclaiming, “Look at me! Look at me! Aren’t I clever? Aren’t I quirky?” There’s room enough for only so many of us show-offs.
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