I love to shop. And by shop I mean look at pics from fashion bloggers on Instagram, outfits in windows at my favorite stores and on Pinterest. I personally can’t put together outfits to save my life or yours. So let’s hope we never find ourselves in a ryde or die styling situation. And as much as I love somewhat fashionable and trendy clothes, I would be perfectly happy in tank tops, jeans and flip flops for the rest of my life. Though I do love a good blazer/jacket as well. Therefore, when I say I love to shop, it doesn’t refer to the the physical act of shopping. Because that, my friends, is fucking terrible.
I have been a short, curvy girl with a skewed waist to hips ratio for my entire existence. My mom has always told me I am built like my dad’s paternal grandmother. That’s great, except she was close to 6 ft. tall. So, yeah. Not quite the same. Nine times out of 10, things don’t fit me on some level. To add insult to injury, I am extremely pale (but tan super easily, thank the lord – except my legs OF COURSE) and outside of one year in LA, I’ve always been blonde. So there goes most anything on the light end of the color spectrum. I think you get it. Clothes are difficult for me.
And I’ve never been rich. I won’t go into the history of finances of either my family or myself, cause that’s just boring and tacky. But I’ve never had money to invest a lot in clothes (though many times I’ve spent more than I should). Therefore, I am the one that will walk out of Old Navy with four shirts, two pairs of pants, three workout tops, maybe some shoes and a bag, a new dog, a Diet Coke (I don’t even really drink Diet Coke), two face masks and six pairs of earrings for $75.
But can’t make a cute outfit out of ANY OF IT.
I’ve promised myself when – not if, but WHEN – I get to “goal weight”, I will invest in a personal stylist. Cause your girl needs some help. However, who doesn’t need any help whatsoever? One of my best friends. She can step out of the house in workout clothes, hair in a topknot, flippies and a designer purse with no makeup and look like she just walked down a runway at New York Fashion Week. Me? Look a little closer and you’ll see three inch roots, a growing sunspot, a little hole in the crotch of my yoga pants and a statement necklace made out of animal hair.
A couple of weeks ago we were out running errands and popped into a well known and loved boutique here in Dallas for her to drop off some clothes that needed alterations. I have heard of this place for quite some time, but never dared go in there. I’m basically a scene out of Pretty Woman walking in wanting to yell out “yeah but look, my sunglasses and lip gloss are Tom Ford, you guys! Please like me!”
I must state, this place is absolutely lovely. The majority of the clothes in there I would never wear because I am just not cool enough. But boy, some are darling. And the denim! (Cause that’s what you call it there: denim). I started looking at price tags and promptly stopped. I could own my own Old Navy for the price of one rack at that place. So I turned to looking at the just jewelry and candles, thinking I was seeking the comfort of more familiar digits.
After I fell head over heels for a candle called Positano that costs $105, I decided to just sit in a chair, enjoy a free bottle of water and mentally vision board the day I will be able to waltz in there, drink champagne, and go on a complete shopping spree. A girl can dream, right?
But also, remind me to never feel out of place in Nordstrom ever again.