Shopping Sucks

The mall sucks too. I hate the mall, I don't know why I go there. I love to shop, as long as I'm not trying to buy something for myself. As it was, on Saturday I was overtaken by an uncontrollable urge to get the Interview Outfit out of the way. By doing this, I completely missed the Knitters Fair in Kitchener, something for which I will slap myself upside the head for the next year until I get my act together and make it to the thing. Now you're going to say, "Oh, it's okay...it's not like you needed more yarn."

Yarn is not about need, people. It's about dreaming and desire. It's the embodiment of cuddly or the one thing between you and the bitter wind. Need. Indeed.

Still, yarn was not on the agenda on Saturday, pants and a top of some kind were instead. Shoes I knew I didn't need, because I picked up a cute little pair of Geox multicoloured kitten heels last week on a wander through Winners. They were the only pair, and they were marked to a ridiculously low price, and they were my size. You know they came home with me and that they've been the source of my obsession ever since I found out that I had this interview lined up. I could wear them! But with what? What sort of semi-business attire do I own?

Nothing. Nothing in my closet revealed itself to be suitable for this interview. It's an academic interview but it's not a faculty job, it's staff. I need to look professional and interesting, but only for half a day, not an entire day and not even for lunch and certainly not dinner. I need to look like I considered what to wear but not that I spent hours agonizing over it. I need to be comfortable in case I have to climb around an instrument or into a dusty office that still has computer punch-cards lurking in heaps in the corners, but I need to have shoes that make noise when I walk so that everyone knows that I mean some kind of business.

My first clue that the Interview Outfit was going to be a problem was that I have no pants. Now certainly, you could look in my closet and see pants. Lots of them, or if not lots, then enough of them. You would also find skirts. You would not find so many dresses because I have a hard time finding dresses that fit me.

And therein lies the rub: clothes do not fit me, and thus, shopping sucks. I am short. I am short enough that I need to wear petite sizes, but even then, no guarantee that the fit will be correct. I am lacking in the boobage department, not flat-chested but certainly not well-endowed enough to wear a majority of button-up shirts or blouses. I am not very big but I'm not a size 0. I will not wear "teen" clothing except where I find a graphic t-shirt that is very very pretty, and even then I will often pass it by. Remember we're talking dress-up clothing here, not jeans and t-shirts, in which case I will go to Old Navigator and find the kids' size 16 for $2.98 t-shirts and jeans can come from Valued Village unless I someday do decide to spend the $200 on the Citizens for Humanity jeans, which caught my eye in Winnipeg last summer and once on I could barely peel them off for loving them so thoroughly.

Yeesh. Clothing incites run-on sentences.

Okay, so where were we? Looking for an outfit. Actually, when I set out at first I wasn't absolutely looking for pants, but seeing the abysmal selection available to me, I gave up on the idea of any other leg-covering garment and settled on pants. Pants are good! I should have more of them.

I quickly discover that the mall is beyond useless. Not only did I only find one pair of pants that I could try on, there's only one store that actually carries petite stuff. They had a nice pair of Simon Chang cords, all black and brown and stripy, but even in the smallest size available i could get them on and off without undoing them. Not so good, and the store had nothing smaller than ... well, nothing small enough for me.

I ended up defaulting to Winners, which is fine except that I always go there and I always end up with what I want, and I always am successful there. Why is this bad? Because it means that if I go in there, I buy stuff, and without slightly more income in this household, going into a store and buying stuff is not a great idea. Anyway, I go. I wander around for ages looking for pants that are not up to my tits (hello Grandma! love the MOM jeans, and I love how round you've gotten around the middle just by getting dressed. How hot is that?) and that are either very slim or relatively wide-legged. The slim ones are not to be found, but after much searching I find a couple of pairs of pants that are worth trying on. I also find a purple turtleneck that has nothing to do with the Interview Outfit, and once I find that I also grab a DKNY shirt that has even less to do with the Interview Outfit, and I also grab a sale item that I love and hate at the same time and therefore must try on to find out the extent of the love/hate.

Pants: Bill Blass, you are not my friend. You not only manufacture Mom Jeans under the guise of a low-rise waist, your colours range from pesto vomit to shit of an infant yellow. You are not the winner of my hard-earned cash today. On the other hand, Dalia you Italian babe, you have made me a pair of pants that will fit, even after I hem up the extra four inches or maybe, give myself a cuff at the bottom of the pants. The waist is a little high but not unbearably so, and besides it'll be under a turtleneck of some kind, because looking for a blouse is an agonizing waste of time. Sweet Mother of Christ what I wouldn't do for some cleavage once in a while.

I try on the purple turtleneck, and the armpits of the sweater are somewhere around my waist, which seems strange. It is not a well-made item and I toss it in the corner of the changeroom, hoping it picks up all the lint. The DKNY t-shirt is a laughable mess, firstly because of the coral colour that does me zero favours, and secondly because size small is supposed to at least pretend to fit me! it should not hang down below my ass or the ends of my fingers and the rest of the thing should not sag like a sack of potatoes around me. What an abomination; it was also thrown in the corner. A black turtleneck that actually could have been part of the Outfit fit poorly and sagged as well. The sale item? definitely hate. Again, the petition for breasts but to no avail.

At least I have pants. I console myself with that for about the amount of time it takes to toss everything at the changeroom attendant and head out again to search. I see some Tommy Hilfiger turtlenecks that are the right shade and style, but I will not wear a logo if I can help it, and Tommy has a small tag hanging out the side. Forget it buddy, you are not going home on my hip. Just as I am about to shrug my shoulders, remembering that I have a creamy-white merino wool top lazing away the hours at the back of a drawer somewhere, I see a turtleneck that will fit the bill in a way that reminds me so much of my late, extraordinarily stylish (and raging drunk) grandmother that I snatch it up and hurry off to the cash register without trying it on. These are often my most successful decisions, and when I get home I am rewarded with a lovely outfit that I'm actually pleased with and comfortable in, two things I couldn't have hoped for when I first set out on my quest.

The Outfit is interesting without being threatening, makes me look good but not too good, and is very comfortable. I can definitely climb into the back of a diffractometer in a dusty lab in this ensemble. One thing though, and that is the shoes. I have two pairs that would work, and they are very different from each other. One pair is the ones I've mentioned, the Geox multicoloured ones, and the second is a 15-year old pair of Fluevogs. Yes, they definitely look worn, but at the same time they are striking shoes and they're not beat-up. I have a big black bag or I have a brown briefcase thing, so that matchy-matchy business isn't a problem. I suspect that no matter what public opinion says, I will choose the shoes the morning of the interview...but in the meantime, here's my dilemma:

One pair of Geox shoes, very beautiful and comfortable and yes, I love them.

Or....

One pair of 15 year-old shoes from John Fluevog, very beautiful and comfortable and have seen some wild days. Looking at these photos side by side, I think I have an opinion, but that may change so I'm not going to hold myself to it. Now, though, since I've scarfed down a huge bowl of ice cream while ranting on and writing this post, I'm going to do some yoga stretches and then go to bed.

Tomorrow, I'll begin reading and reviewing so that I can figure out just what it is exactly, that I do.