I was out shopping on Saturday for a dress to wear to my New York birthday extravaganza. (In case you were wondering, I got a grey, silk, short-with-pockets adorable number, inspired by the Sharks and Jets, on account of the fact I’ll be seeing West Side Story while in NYC – anyhoo, I digress…). I came to realise, that while I clearly love to spend the moolah, I am not a fan of the whole shopping experience.
Why? Because I am a professional when it comes to this shit and there are just too many amateurs.
I don’t have time ladies, I really don’t. I know what I want and I know how to get it (that is true of both shopping and me as a woman). I do not have time for your dawdling, slow walking, rambling and trying on five thousand variations of the same thing. Get it together! Let me save you some time – leggings look like leggings in whatever colour/size you try and you look ridiculous in all of them.
I am also not a fan of sales associates. I have the soundtrack of my life on (AKA, my iPod) wherever I go and I like to keep it on while in shops because I can’t stand the typically hideous musical choices of most retail establishments. Why must every pesky sales chick attempt to strike up a conversation with me? Do you not see the bright white headphones dangling down my front? True, it may be hard to see them due to my unusually pale hue, but still. Just because I pause to look at a garment for more than three seconds, does not mean I want your input on it. If I need assistance, I’ll hunt you down and get it.
Then comes the fitting room. I hate fitting rooms where there’s no mirrors in the actual cubicles, just when you come out into the public area. It’s not because I’m body conscious. I just hate the fact that it’s designed that way so the sales associate can get her two cents worth in on whatever you’re trying on. I’ve come out of a fitting room before to check myself out in the mirror, only to have some 17 year old sales chick shower me with ‘oh, that looks like, so great, that is like sooo cute on you.’ I know I look good thanks. This ain’t Oprah – I’m not looking for positive affirmations. I don’t need you to stroke me ego, or anything else for that matter (I think we all remember this Victoria’s Secret incident). I’m not sure if they work off commission, but they tend to say whatever you’re trying on is the most amazing thing ever. I have called them out on this before. ‘Were you just hitting the pipe? This clearly looks terrible on me.’ I’ve had enough sales jobs at clothing stores to know that I would never let someone walk out with something that made them look shitty. I’m just trying to do my bit towards making the world a more fashionably beautiful place – you can thank me later.
But the worst part of shopping at the particular store I was at, is that when you buy something, they ask for your name and put it into the computer, for reasons I’m still not 100% sure about. Well, as you can imagine, my name, Muireann Carey-Campbell, is a little much for most of them to handle. The Irish + double barrel equation sends them over the edge. I counted yesterday, it took 6 minutes for this chick to get it right. I’m pretty sure English was her first language, so I’m not sure why she doesn’t know the alphabet. But if I decide to shop there again, my name will be Jane Smith.