Fashion is Not My Forté, or How I narrowly avoided dressing across the boundary
Anyone who knows me will tell you that, while I probably do not dress like a complete slob, I don't have much in the way for sense of style. I attribute this to a false sense of ability that I acquired when I was as young as three or four years old: I was recently informed by my mother that I regularly dressed myself in the morning before being picked up by the carpool for school. Apparently, my mom knew I looked like a dork, but was too tired being all pregnant with my brother to do anything about it. So that it's clear, I'm not complaining, I'm just saying.
This not having a sense of style tends to come bite me in the butt whenever my clothes start getting too faded, or my jeans start to spring holes in them. At some point, I end up having to buy some clothes, and this is always a challenge -- largely because I can't tell what looks good, and I really hate doing it. Typically, I will end up going with someone (i.e. Cheryl), that someone will pick out some stuff, and I'll say, "Nah, that's not my style", or, "Dude, that's WAAAY too expensive." -- and then the clothes get put back on the rack. Then, a few days later when I have apparently forgotten about the whole episode, that someone (i.e. Cheryl) or another someone (i.e. my mom) will just buy clothes on my behalf and stick it in my closet.
Four weeks ago, something different happened: I was packing to head to Rome when I discovered that my jeans were just in no condition to be worn. Uh-oh: this meant I needed to go buy some clothes. As these things go, I had to do it on my own, because there wasn't any time for Cheryl to go with me so that I could complain about her style choices for me. Everyone knew it was a dire situation. She gave me some simple advice: "Just buy the darkest jeans you can find. It's not the '80s anymore: stonewashed jeans are NOT IN."
Okay, no problem. I can do that, I thought.
I headed over to Old Navy. I like Old Navy: aside from being the right price range, their clothes are kind of the right level of blandness for me, AND they have these outstanding clearance racks where they sell stuff for ridiculous prices. When I happen to find myself in Old Navy, one of my favourite things to do is to go through this rack: there's literally nothing more exciting than seeing something that used to cost $40 marked down to like $5. I don't care what you say, that's an outstanding deal!
On this particular day, I headed straight to the regular jeans section, and picked up a few of the regular standbys that I like. I looked over and saw that so-called "fashion jeans" were on sale, too, so I flipped through those, and grabbed the darkest two pairs I could find. Pleased with myself, I headed over to the clearance rack in the men's section and really hunkered down. As per usual, the first few things on the rack were oversized XXXL shirts that basically make absolutely no sense to stock in Richmond, where it seems that at least 75% of the population is Asian (i.e. not large enough to wear XXXL shirts, typically -- although sometimes I worry that they will begin to fit one day, and I'll eat my words). A few t-shirts, nope, got enough of those, and then a-ha! A button up shirt. XL, but it looked like it fit. Excellent. Well not the size (see earlier comment), but an extra button-up shirt is always good. It had sort of a weird vertical stripe pattern on it, but an extra button-up shirt that... woah! $3.50!? Marked down from $34.99! Even better!
Quite pleased with myself, I headed to the change room.
"Five items," I said to the girl working the change rooms, gesturing at the four pairs of jeans and my shirt.
When I got into my little room, I was so excited about the shirt, I threw the jeans down on seat and took the shirt off the hanger. It came on sort of a weird hanger that I'd never seen before, and the buttons were a little shiny. Undeterred though (and thinking about the price), I threw it on. The sleeves were a bit tight.
Now, reflecting back on this, I can pinpoint this as the first moment that the fleeting thought, "Maybe this isn't a guy's shirt," crossed my mind. But, so overwhelmed was I with my cheapness that the thought immediately got quashed by the pride I would have at getting a shirt for 10% of its original price.
The next thing I noticed was that my hands didn't fit through the cuffs. "No problem," I thought, "I'll just adjust the cuffs here..." And so I did, but my wrists were comparatively huge on this shirt. Nevertheless, with both arms through the shirt, I looked at the mirror, and noticed that the pattern definitely had an odd pattern on it -- definitely not "masculine". It was around this time that I noticed that the shirt had sort of a weird seam just above my belly.
Reflecting back, I would say that at this point, some small part of me inside was yelling, "DUDE! THIS IS A GIRL'S SHIRT," but the more rational part of me responded, "Dude, you got no fashion sense. That, and this shirt was in the guy's clearance rack. Why would it be there?" I decided that if the buttons were wrong, then I was probably definitely wearing a girl's shirt.
I looked in the mirror. Everything looked okay. I hesitated, then reached down and felt where the buttons and holes where. WOah.
I whipped off that bad-boy. Or, bad-girl. Looked at the name on the back, and sure as the sun rises every morning, it said, "Tilly's Maternity Clothes." Woah.
The rest of that time in the dressing room was spent thinking about all the obvious warning signs that I'd apparently missed, but it really went by in a blur. I liked two jeans, didn't like the other two. As I was leaving the change room, I took care to roll the maternity shirt into the jeans I didn't want. After all, I didn't want to get laughed at for taking a women's shirt into the change room!
The lady said to me, "Find anything you like?"
"Oh, I liked these two," I replied.
"Just leave the clothes you don't like on the table there." Lazy, stupid guy that I was, I left the pile on the table.
In retrospect, this was probably not an advisable action. While on the surface, it seemed like the perfect getaway, I remember now that the table was actually bare, so my clothes were the only ones on the table. Second, she knew I went in with five items, and only left with two items! Third, the shirt was rolled into the jeans. Doh! How could I have been so stupid?! She put two and two together! She'll be laughing with her Old Navy change room friends at shift change! I'll be the laughing stock!
And then, I realized that she probably wouldn't notice that it was a girl's shirt, and then put it back on the clearance rack in the men's section because it'd been wrapped up in some men's jeans, and this whole tale would repeat itself for some other hapless fool...
Well, better him than me, I guess.
This not having a sense of style tends to come bite me in the butt whenever my clothes start getting too faded, or my jeans start to spring holes in them. At some point, I end up having to buy some clothes, and this is always a challenge -- largely because I can't tell what looks good, and I really hate doing it. Typically, I will end up going with someone (i.e. Cheryl), that someone will pick out some stuff, and I'll say, "Nah, that's not my style", or, "Dude, that's WAAAY too expensive." -- and then the clothes get put back on the rack. Then, a few days later when I have apparently forgotten about the whole episode, that someone (i.e. Cheryl) or another someone (i.e. my mom) will just buy clothes on my behalf and stick it in my closet.
Four weeks ago, something different happened: I was packing to head to Rome when I discovered that my jeans were just in no condition to be worn. Uh-oh: this meant I needed to go buy some clothes. As these things go, I had to do it on my own, because there wasn't any time for Cheryl to go with me so that I could complain about her style choices for me. Everyone knew it was a dire situation. She gave me some simple advice: "Just buy the darkest jeans you can find. It's not the '80s anymore: stonewashed jeans are NOT IN."
Okay, no problem. I can do that, I thought.
I headed over to Old Navy. I like Old Navy: aside from being the right price range, their clothes are kind of the right level of blandness for me, AND they have these outstanding clearance racks where they sell stuff for ridiculous prices. When I happen to find myself in Old Navy, one of my favourite things to do is to go through this rack: there's literally nothing more exciting than seeing something that used to cost $40 marked down to like $5. I don't care what you say, that's an outstanding deal!
On this particular day, I headed straight to the regular jeans section, and picked up a few of the regular standbys that I like. I looked over and saw that so-called "fashion jeans" were on sale, too, so I flipped through those, and grabbed the darkest two pairs I could find. Pleased with myself, I headed over to the clearance rack in the men's section and really hunkered down. As per usual, the first few things on the rack were oversized XXXL shirts that basically make absolutely no sense to stock in Richmond, where it seems that at least 75% of the population is Asian (i.e. not large enough to wear XXXL shirts, typically -- although sometimes I worry that they will begin to fit one day, and I'll eat my words). A few t-shirts, nope, got enough of those, and then a-ha! A button up shirt. XL, but it looked like it fit. Excellent. Well not the size (see earlier comment), but an extra button-up shirt is always good. It had sort of a weird vertical stripe pattern on it, but an extra button-up shirt that... woah! $3.50!? Marked down from $34.99! Even better!
Quite pleased with myself, I headed to the change room.
"Five items," I said to the girl working the change rooms, gesturing at the four pairs of jeans and my shirt.
When I got into my little room, I was so excited about the shirt, I threw the jeans down on seat and took the shirt off the hanger. It came on sort of a weird hanger that I'd never seen before, and the buttons were a little shiny. Undeterred though (and thinking about the price), I threw it on. The sleeves were a bit tight.
Now, reflecting back on this, I can pinpoint this as the first moment that the fleeting thought, "Maybe this isn't a guy's shirt," crossed my mind. But, so overwhelmed was I with my cheapness that the thought immediately got quashed by the pride I would have at getting a shirt for 10% of its original price.
The next thing I noticed was that my hands didn't fit through the cuffs. "No problem," I thought, "I'll just adjust the cuffs here..." And so I did, but my wrists were comparatively huge on this shirt. Nevertheless, with both arms through the shirt, I looked at the mirror, and noticed that the pattern definitely had an odd pattern on it -- definitely not "masculine". It was around this time that I noticed that the shirt had sort of a weird seam just above my belly.
Reflecting back, I would say that at this point, some small part of me inside was yelling, "DUDE! THIS IS A GIRL'S SHIRT," but the more rational part of me responded, "Dude, you got no fashion sense. That, and this shirt was in the guy's clearance rack. Why would it be there?" I decided that if the buttons were wrong, then I was probably definitely wearing a girl's shirt.
I looked in the mirror. Everything looked okay. I hesitated, then reached down and felt where the buttons and holes where. WOah.
I whipped off that bad-boy. Or, bad-girl. Looked at the name on the back, and sure as the sun rises every morning, it said, "Tilly's Maternity Clothes." Woah.
The rest of that time in the dressing room was spent thinking about all the obvious warning signs that I'd apparently missed, but it really went by in a blur. I liked two jeans, didn't like the other two. As I was leaving the change room, I took care to roll the maternity shirt into the jeans I didn't want. After all, I didn't want to get laughed at for taking a women's shirt into the change room!
The lady said to me, "Find anything you like?"
"Oh, I liked these two," I replied.
"Just leave the clothes you don't like on the table there." Lazy, stupid guy that I was, I left the pile on the table.
In retrospect, this was probably not an advisable action. While on the surface, it seemed like the perfect getaway, I remember now that the table was actually bare, so my clothes were the only ones on the table. Second, she knew I went in with five items, and only left with two items! Third, the shirt was rolled into the jeans. Doh! How could I have been so stupid?! She put two and two together! She'll be laughing with her Old Navy change room friends at shift change! I'll be the laughing stock!
And then, I realized that she probably wouldn't notice that it was a girl's shirt, and then put it back on the clearance rack in the men's section because it'd been wrapped up in some men's jeans, and this whole tale would repeat itself for some other hapless fool...
Well, better him than me, I guess.
posted by tangaroo at 12:31 a.m.
1 comments
