Nope, Not a Shopaholic

I hate to shop for clothes. In fact, “hate” isn’t even a strong enough word, but I can’t think of one that adequately conveys the intensity of my loathing. Hate clothes shopping. Hate, hate, hate, hate.

Hate.

Unfortunately, at the moment I also hate everything in my closet. Hence my dilemma.

I’ve been wearing the same few outfits to work every day since September. What isn’t starting to look a bit frayed around the edges is getting on my last nerve. Plus, as I began to think about what I’ll pack when we leave for Las Vegas in two weeks, I realized that all the jeans, tops and footwear I had planned to take were the exact things I packed for the same trip last year.

Because of my distinctly un-girl-like aversion to shopping, a lot of my clothes come from eBay. Three years ago when we went on a cruise and I realized I didn’t own any cruise-type clothes, I stocked up on Capri pants and summery dresses via eBay. I get all my jeans there, too. The trick is to find a brand and size that work (Victoria’s Secret, size 4, 32-inch inseam) and watch the listings.

The other issue I have with clothes shopping is that I am cheap. Some of that is frugality; some of it is a chronic lack of financial liquidity. I hate to spend more than, say, $10 on a shirt. I delight in someone saying, “Hey, I like that sweater,” to which I can reply, “Thanks! I got it on clearance at Christopher & Banks for $3.99!” I usually spend a bit more on jeans, since I prefer the VS “Uplift” ones, which make the most of the flat, bony, saggy posterior I possess. But, full retail price? Perish the thought!

Probably my biggest eBay score was the black leather pants that I got a couple of years ago but have yet to wear. They were $189 in the Victoria’s Secret catalog, and I got them for $10. I am wearing them in Vegas this year, though. Hey, if the guys in Styx, who are all well into their 50s, can wear leather, so can I!

This week, I spent an unbelievable amount of time digging through the bottom of my closet, looking for things that fell off the hangers in ages past. Since I had hated them at the time they and the hangers parted ways, I didn’t bother to rescue them. But everything else in the closet is now repulsive, and I thought maybe I’d find something that I now hated less than the stuff I’ve been wearing. This theory did not pan out.

I was left with no other alternative. We got in the car and headed for Kohl’s, because I have a Kohl’s charge card. I had the same enthusiasm for this particular outing that most people reserve for visits to the dentist. But it had to be done.

The other reason I detest shopping for clothes is because I am indescribably bad at it. Unless things are hanging together on the same display rack, I am completely unable to piece together a coordinated outfit. I harbor an unrealistic dream that one day Kohl’s will institute its own version of Garanimals. Then all I’ll have to do is find a shirt and a pair of pants that both have blue hippo tags, or red elephants, and I’ll know I’m properly outfitted. Thankfully, Tom is extremely good at finding things that go together, so I was glad to have him along.

I also have issues with current fashion, but that’s probably my own fault. After spending the better part of two decades unable to shop anywhere other than the “big girl stores,” then being restored to my high school weight through the miracle of gastric bypass surgery, I seem to be under the impression that I should dress as if I am in high school. I’ve tried to convince myself that I should “dress my age,” but I refuse to listen to me. (What do I know, anyway?)

I am constantly searching for the coolest low-rise jeans, high heeled boots or sandals, and super-cute tops. Lately, it seems everything is solid color, though, and I prefer pretty, multi-colored patterns. Not stripes. I only like about three colors, further limiting my options. Also, everything is either a camisole or those tops that have an empire waist and tie in the back, then billow out down to the hips, like a maternity top. Ick. And what’s with everything being sleeveless or short-sleeved? (helloooooo… arm flabble!) This was true even in September, when the “winter” clothes were in full stock. I found myself wandering Kohl’s in search of winter work clothes muttering, “Much more sleevier. Everything needs to be much more sleevier.”

Actually, I’d like all the camisoles, arm flabble be damned, if they had a built-in bra, like the Victoria’s Secret bra tops. Those are handy when you’re built like I am. Here’s a “try this at home” exercise for you. Take a bobby sock. Not a tube sock or a knee sock. No, I do not mean a “booby sock,” because as far as I know there is no such thing. A bobby sock. Put one handful of sand or fine aquarium gravel in the sock. Next, place the open end of the sock up against your chest, in the approximate location of a bra cup. Finally, bend over.

Now you know why camisole tops rarely work on me. The part where they assume your breasts will be bears absolutely no resemblance to the same location on my own body. I lost the weight and the cleavage, but it seems I got to keep all the leftover skin. Yippee.

I’d like to report that I walked into Kohl’s and found a whole closetful of wonderful new clothes, but I didn’t. As expected, my brain flat-lined within three minutes of entering the store. However, I managed not to be appalled and/or disgusted by exactly three things.

1. A plain brown t-shirt, because I figure I can wear it with khakis or jeans, and top it off with the denim jacket with golden retrievers embroidered on it that I got at a dog show last month.

2. A long-sleeve top in deep reds, golds, browns and black that will go with either black jeans or the black leather pants.

3. A silver chain so I can wear the paw-print charm that I also got at the dog show. It had a chain, but it was junk. I thought I’d lost the charm the day I had to go to Urgent Care and get my head stitched up. It was in my coat pocket, and one of the doctors’ dogs peed on the coat, so I threw it in the clinic wash without cleaning out the pockets. (I was a bit distracted, what with the gaping bloody head wound and all.) Later, I couldn’t find the charm. Turns out it wasn’t in my pocket at all. I found it in the side pouch of my purse (which I also bought at the dog show) a few days ago.

I paid a total of $24 for all three purchases.

Upon reading that last paragraph, it seems I should try to do most of my shopping at dog shows. But since there isn’t one in the area before I go to Las Vegas, I suppose I’d better start browsing on eBay, because there is no way in hell I’m going to a mall.