Shopping in Stores: Magic, Misery…or Somewhere In Between?

I used to mentor an adorable teenage girl. Once a week, I’d take her out somewhere, her choice. Inevitably, her eyes would light up. “Let’s go to the mall!” she’d say, all atwitter. I’d smile, but inside die a little. I hated the mall. Then I’d feel guilty. As a female, aren’t I supposed to love shopping? Was there something vital lacking in my DNA?

My young friend and I would walk around and I’d try and look upbeat. After all, the mall was well lit and clean. Cheerful music played. Children scampered about with moms in tow. Teenagers huddled in excited groups, giggling and texting. Adults drifted about, some with that dreamy, content smile one gets when doing what one loves. I realized this place was putting everything it had into making me happy.

So why was I miserable?

Meanwhile, my teenage friend scampered about, eyes bright, examining tops, jeans, sneakers, sweaters, fun hats, eye liner, peach-flavored lip gloss, plush toys, and CD’s. I dutifully followed through big box stores and small stores and medium stores, trying to look interested, but inside was bored out of my skull.

Finally it hit me. I don’t like stores. I don’t like their music. I don’t like their racks. I don’t like their endless shelves and aisles. I don’t like their dressing rooms and bright lights. I don’t like them. What was wrong with me?

Because of this, my retail experience was limited to discount outlets with their “quick to flick through” rows of blouses, tops, and slacks. Get me in and get me out.

Then one day I had the chance to put my shopping aversion to the test.

My husband Randy and I were staying in Manhattan. While he went to an appointment, I strolled along Fifth Avenue. Besides Rodeo Drive, you can’t find more upscale, sophisticated, scintillating shopping. If I couldn’t get into this, there was no hope for me.

And yet… as I followed the crowd into Chanel, I looked around and sighed. More clothes, more racks. More music, more dressing rooms. All of it was the height of taste and fashion and glamour. I also tried Prada and Dior and Saks Fifth Avenue. But it was all the same.

I felt like the woman who feels nothing after being kissed by Prince Charming. Instead I went to Central Park, sat on a bench, and watched the squirrels. That made me happy.

And yet I know plenty of women (and yes, men too) who love stores and the thrill of the chase. It looks like fun. I wish I were one of them.

Then I found online shopping. And something wonderful happened.

I started to enjoy buying clothes. I could poke around at my leisure. I got to know where to find my favorite jeans and cute black pants and tops. I even started to like the chase a little (as long as it was a very quick chase). The lazy, antsy shopper in me was finally satisfied.

Recently I needed a winter coat and decided, as an experiment, to give the local department store one more try. Maybe I hadn’t given it a fair shake, I thought, riding the escalator to the second floor. There I found mile after mile of every kind of outerwear imaginable. I took a deep breath. After trying on what felt like dozens, none were quite right, to my frustration. Finally one was “close enough” and I bought it.

That afternoon, I went home and looked at winter coats online. Within minutes I found exactly what I wanted. I held my breath and pushed, “Click to Buy.” I figured I could return it if it didn’t work, although I had studied the size chart well. And I know there’s a difference between seeing something “in the flesh” and on a computer page. But within two days the coat arrived and fit like a glove, the style exactly what I wanted.

The next day, I returned the store-bought.

So what’s the moral of this story? Maybe we need to give ourselves permission to be who we are in life, even if we feel we’re swimming upstream. We need to find what makes us happy.

Or maybe the real moral is that if there were no online shopping, I’d be up the creek. I’d still shop in stores, gritting my teeth and checking my watch, secretly pining for the squirrels of Central Park.

 

 

How do you feel about shopping? Comments are always welcome and if you like, please share.

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