"Ouff," I clutched at the clothes that had been thrust into my arms. Wide-eyed with shock and apprehensive about where this was going, I followed the assistant around the store as she went from rack to rack, talking non-stop.
"You need a suit? This is a very cute suit, straight from Paris. The fashion won't come here until next winter." She picks out the jacket and skirt in my size and hands them to me. Still talking she moves onto the next rack. "Now these are veeery nice pants, you need black pants? yes." Without waiting for an answer, I find my self holding a pair of pants. Occasionally I manage to squeak out, "I've got a pair of pants like that," or "I can't wear sparkles at work." I'm not sure if I can or not. I do know there is no way I can take myself seriously wearing anything with a metallic thread in it. The number of clothes that have been put aside for me to try on is growing. Just when it looks as though she's finished, she claps her hands and says, "Riight, now we go upstairs." I manage a wane smile and follow up behind her. In my head, I'm freaking out. There's an upstairs?
Like the excellent saleslady that she is, she asked me what I was looking for and I said I needed a pair of black wool pants that were lined. Somewhere in the pile of clothes waiting for me to try then on, there is a pair of white wool lined pants. I'm hoping one of the three pairs of black pants is wool. I'm hoping to get out with my wallet in good repair. All I had wanted was a pair of pants. Now I've got several suits, both pant and skirt, as well as sweaters and tops to try on. And this was just from downstairs, upstairs I accumulate another skirt, its jacket, a pair of jeans and a sweater in my arms. I demur before we head into the shoes. She nodds, "We do shoes at the end." She takes the pile from my arms and leads me back downstairs.
"Heere is the changeroom!" So, now I am to try it all on. However, this is not my show, I am merely the model. She picks out a pair of black pants, and a top. "Try these on!" It's a command so I do it. There are shoes in the change room which I have been instructed to wear. I teeter out on the heels where I am to be appraised. Currently there are two sales assistants, a young girl and my mother. My mother has been placed in a chair and is looking bemused. The young girl belongs in some capacity to the shop.
The fit of the pants is granted approval and the sales lady takes another top from the clothes reserved for me to try the on. "Now leave those pants on and try this on with them." So I do. The top is a cute wool top that has a scoop neck and is fluid through the body with cream detailing. It's pretty. I am handed a turtle neck and told to try it on under the top that I currently have on. At this stage, I realise that I am to get each outfit made a gazillion different ways. And on it goes, "Wear this skirt with this top and this jacket." "Leave the skirt on and wear this blouse, put this jacket on top." I keep the same bottom on and try on different tops, sweaters and jackets. I leave jackets and on try them with skirts and tops. I have necklaces draped over my neck, scarves artfully arranged on a jacket and the promise of the appropriate footwear. I feel like Barbie. I do not feel empowered. I do know that this lady is in charge. Perhaps Barbie does make little girls feel empowered. I make a mental note to think this through later, right now I'm being given yet another complete outfit.
If it doesn't fit well, "Take it off, that won't do!" Occasionally I reject pieces due to personal peeves. But the vast majority of it fits and it fits well and looks even better. I get to the stage where as I pull an item on, I hope it doesn't fit so I am not given ten more things to try on with it. I get lucky a few times and I am able to say authoritatively, "this doesn't fit" and hand it back out.
The rest is going into a "maybe" pile. My "maybe" pile allows me to rank items according to how much I like it and how much use I will get out of it. It also allows for me to do a mental calculation so that I am prepared and satisfied when I head to the cash register. By the time I'm finished, I can't remember what's in the pile. I'm about to start weeding the pile when it is gathered up and swept off to the cash register. I look at my mum in horror. She looks back at me but she is powerless to do anything.
I take a deep breath and remember that I have rent to pay next month. I will refuse to be bullied.
The clothes have been hung on a clothes post at the cash register. The lady starts holding up items. There's a cute plaid skirt that all the sales staff loved and I was indifferent about. I shake my head, "no." Behind the skirt is a top that I didn't try on. It is now gone too as it was to go with the skirt. So we weed. I agreeing to items that I loved that would be useful. And we're down to a jacket, a pair of jeans, a pair of black pants, and a sweater. I take a breath. "What would be the final total of this?" I watch the calculator and realise that I am not happy. I look at my mum. She's maintaining her poker face. I ask to see the black pants.
The sales lady decides that I need coaching. "What are you going to wear more? these black pants or the jeans? the pants, no? We leave the jeans." I flip the content label on the pants. They are not wool and they are not lined. I point this out and the fact that it's freezing cold where I live. "Alright then, you had better leave the pants and take the jeans." I do a quick calcualtion. "I'll leave the jeans and the pants." She looks at me. European sales staff are tough. They don't give up a sale easily. I looked back hoping that I looked determined rather than petrified. She shrugged her shoulders. "Ok. you get the jacket and the sweater." I could tell that she thought I was an idiot shopper. Not the most useful out of what I had tried on. However, they were the best pieces for mixing into my wardrobe. And they would round out my wardrobe very nicely.
I came home in slight shock. I wasn't used to doing a personal fashion show. I needed a drink. I've started doing two shopping expeditions a year : one for summer and one for winter and avoiding stores like the plague the rest of the year. And now I know why, I can't take that level of intensity on a more regular basis. It's too intimidating.
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