Often on holidays or during vacations, my daughters and I go shopping for clothes together. Usually we are on a mission to hunt and kill (in a manly fashion) a particular item for one of us to wear for a special event and the rest of us tag along as the peanut gallery of brutally honest opinions and critique. Other times, we are drawn to a 40% off/ take an extra 30% at check out event and we are in the stores for nothing but a great piece at an even better price. The flaw in this mission, which is why we take this sort of sale on as a team, is that a person is often sucked in by the price and justifies the color or fit because it is so cheap. A bargain.
My feeling about this sort of purchase, and what I have tried to teach my daughters, is that if it didn’t appeal to you or look good on you at full retail, only the price tag looks better at half price.
We have a pretty good system for our search and rescue mission, rescuing that one little size 4 red silk tank everyone overlooked at full price and is now hidden in the 14’s. People who sale shop have notoriously bad manners about returning items to their appropriate size section.
Note: If you like something, look for it is all the size stalls. There are hidden gems lurking all along the racks. I swear people stuff a favorite size 6 pant in the 16’s to hide them for later if they get distracted by Tori Burch flats or Kate Spade clutches and plan to return.
But we are on to them. So our first job when we arrive at a sale is to divide and conquer, sweep all the sizes by designers we like separately, grab as much as we can hang over both arms without dislocating a scapula, and pick stuff we think any of us would like or look good in.
We then get three dressing rooms in a row, and dig in. The next few minutes are a flurry of blouses, pants, skirts, dresses; flying over and under dressing room doors as one of us tries something on and thinks it’s better for someone else or wants to get another to think outside their clothing box. Unanimous losers are tossed over the dressing room door, our signal to the sales clerk that the door slung clothes can go back to the racks for Brittany Spears or Christina Aguillera to buy in two sizes too small.
After about ten minutes of clanging hangers and elbows hitting mirrors or toes caught on corner stools, as most dressing rooms are the size of a child’s toy closet, we start our show and tell in front of a central three way mirror that is usually somewhere within barefoot walking distance from the dressing rooms.
That is where the real fun begins. We all know that what looked good to us in the safety of our own room becomes a size too small and even changes color when we emerge for feedback from each other. Phrases like, “Well, hello, Grandma!” or “Where are you going in that–traffic court?” start flying out of our mouths and we each swallow our pride and slink back into our stalls for another round.
My favorite exchange this last outing was my younger, single daughter stepping out of her dressing room resembling a lost Olsen twin and me asking her why she has to buy everything two sizes too big. To this, my older, married daughter replied, “Oh, she just wants to look like she slept over at her boyfriend’s and threw on just any old thing from his closet to walk home in.” Turning to grab another hanger, my baby girl said, “Exactly.” And pulled another size extra large turtle neck over her head.
Now this all might sound a little daunting but to tell you the truth, it’s one of my favorite things to do. I love being with my daughters. Love the sounds of their groans or chuckles if something doesn’t even make the cut for committee vote. And we always end up with things we really like if they win the prize for final check out.
I know I have a real keeper when I hear, “There you go, Meg Ryan, looks like everything else in your closet.”
Does it get any better than her cardigans and clunky oxfords in You’ve Got Mail?!