Most women know as a shopper’s rule, but hate to admit, that whatever piece of clothing you pick out at a department store, you will like it the most in that store. There is something about the way the store smells, the department lights making everything look new and shiny and that “high” of holding an article of clothing that is marked down 50% with an additional 25% from that, and that coupon you cut out of the saver’s section in the newspaper. Basically, if you don’t love it in the store, you will never wear it. Well I would like to contribute a similar rule to the Savvy Shopper’s list of Do’s and Don’ts. Here it is: whatever you want to buy, no matter what, will feel the most comfortable in the environment of dressing rooms and price tags. That itchy wool sweater, yea it might be bearable now, but as soon as you get home you will realize it has given you a rash the size of Texas on your neck. Or those new white dress pants; you won’t be able to hold in that quivering belly any easier in front of the mirror in your own bed room. I am convinced of this rule because of a pair of devilish-looking black high-heeled boots.
I had no idea that right after walking into Forever 21 at the Greene, cupid would strike me in the wallet as soon as I laid my eyes on those beauties. I was memorized by their death drop 4 inch heels, and the classy pointed toe. I imagined strutting my 6 foot 1’ self down the hallways at school. Best dressed for a day? That was fine with me. I picked up one of the boots, and held it in a stream of light like a scene from the Lion King. If these boots could talk, they said “try me on and then buy me…. and do it fast…..it will be the best decision of your life.” I didn’t think to disobey this order for a second. I slipped them on with ease and then stood up. My first thought was, “woaaaaa, you all look so tiny down there.” As I adjusted to my new level of elevation, I swayed a little. Was there seriously a breeze in the middle of the store? No, that was just my puny calf muscles saying they hated me. I took a step. Another step. After about ten steps I ended up only about a few feet away from my starting place. So I wasn’t making huge strides, but it’s not like I was going to run a marathon in them, I convinced myself. Kelli came around the corner holding a hideous pink zip-up jacket that looked like she stole it from The Fresh Prince of Bellaire. I was greeted with a look of disgust equal to my feelings about her jacket. “Hannah! You are going to kill yourself in those!” she squeaked as she ran over and held onto my arm. “Kelli, I know how to walk!” I retaliated. It would have been very convincing if I had said those words as I cat walked in a circle around her with my hands on my hips. But all I could manage to do was shakily take a step retreating from her and throw my hands up in the air striking a pose. I prayed for a distraction so that I could hug a very sturdy looking pillar nearby. “Well, I think you should practice wearing them around the store before you buy them” she said; I could tell she was not convinced by my pathetic little display. I spent the next five minutes following Kelli around the store smiling confidently while in her gaze, and grasping onto any available solid fixture when her back was turned. By the time we were ready to purchase our items, I was growing beautiful blisters on my feet and a back problem. But for some reason, I swallowed my good sense, I’m not proud to say, and forked over $30 of hard-earned money for these hardly desirable health problems. This is the true confession of an impulse shopper. I wish I could tell you that as soon as I got home, the shoes molded to my feet and evolved Dr.Scholls squishy inserts. But that would be a lie, and I don’t want to lie to you. I want to instead inform you that the belief women have adapted over the years, because of society’s sick expectations, that pain is beauty. Pain is not beauty. Pain is pain. Pain is also watching my pride shatter all over the Dayton Mall floors, or was that my body that shattered? Actually it was both. Don’t believe the lies… you will look more beautiful in those ugly worn out lawn-mower shoes than you will in a pair of dangerous heels any day. Those other shoes are just for looking at.
