I promised not to write about my diet, but I never gave any guarantees I wouldn’t write about trying on clothes. Now I’ve begun to though, I’m having a crisis of confidence, giving serious consideration to abandoning this theme. It’s just way too girly. All my life I’ve hated conversations about diets, clothes and cosmetics, they leave me bored and isolated. It may be because I’m jealous of women who are successful enough slimmers to look good in Miss Sixty jeans and Rimmel. It may also be because these topics aren’t inherently interesting…but then if that is true, why are dozens of magazines published every month on those subjects?
I seem to have lost my summer clothes. The ones I have left are three years old and too worn even for my standards. Also, I have lost some weight. The scales recorded a little milestone. I went browsing.
Although I distance myself from clothes shopping, there are clothes shops that I rely on. This is in as much as I don’t feel like a freak when I pass through their doors, and I can generally find one thing that fits. I learned in my late teens that where you shop says a lot about who you are. That’s not profound, but it came as a surprise to me as a fresher at Leeds. 1980’s Cornwall had no trendy shops, unless you were counting Etam, which one did, but only in that it was a new-to-Truro chain clothes shop that rivalled the ground floor of Littlewoods. It was at college that I was asked where I bought my donkey jacket (the Pannier Market) and was judged by it. All of the girls seemed to shop in Next, or want to shop there. My housemate spent the whole of her first term’s grant on one shopping spree, then strolled unapologetically down to the phone box to call her Dad, from whence more funds were sent. I didn’t envy her the luxury, those Next clothes looked a bit stiff. I had chunky knit acrylic jumpers made by a firm in St Austell. I seduced her brother in one of those, so it wasn’t all bad.
I shop at the chain stores now, and Coventry is the chain store clothing capital of the nation. You would think I’d fit in. New Look has been a long time favourite. Not too expensive, wide range of sizes, middle of the road fashionability, people of my own age shopping there. That has been the case since New Look opened up on the precinct over a decade ago. It was until now. I spent over an hour looking for stuff. No joy. Nothing that I would wear. There were floral flounces in pale pink. There were leggings. I tried some stuff on. Everything fitted. I should have been celebrating my new dress size (if three things are tried on in a particular size and they fit, I believe you are allowed to call that your size, I am an 18). The trouble is, at my size and age, a frilly racer back blouse and leggings combo is an unseemly choice. I exited the changing room with a queasy feeling and a red face to have another look. Before me were young people. This explained it all. I have out-aged New Look. I’m after Older Look.
I walked a bit further, ending up in Dorothy Perkins. This was a tiny bit better because of the music that was playing. Baby Give It Up by KC and the Sunshine Band. Although I find that it was a 70’s, rather than an 80’s track it made me remember better times at college when I did fit in. I remembered Carrie who was beautiful, well dressed, coconut scented, and who predicted the commercial possibilities of a Subway style meal experience. Some time in 1990 we shared a joke on the hilarity of the chances of her shopping at Dot P’s. You had to be there. I wonder if she’s out-ageing her high end boutiques, and if she bought shares in Subway before there was one in every former shoe shop.
Where does the average mumsy 42 year old shop these days? If you’re out there Carrie, give me a clue. You were so right about the donkey jacket. It was hard wearing though.
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