February 23rd, 2008

Me at the Mall

I know this isn’t a popular problem to have, but I am a thwarted consumer. I love shopping and, sadly, I love the worst capitalistic aspect: malls. Even when I was a student and all my discretionary income went towards coffee, I called the mall (all malls are The Mall) The Museum of Nice Clothes and went sometimes just to savour all the *stuff*. Doesn’t need to be mine for me to appreciate it.

Now, however, I am no longer a student, but a person with a decently remunerated full-time job and I could have the occasional expensive bit of discretionary fluff. However, I almost never shop unless there’s a birthday I’m in danger of missing, because full-time jobs eat up a lot of time and then there’s this whole writing thing I do. So my clothes wear out and discretionary purchases are limited to high-end groceries (but how many artichoke hearts can a girl eat?) In many ways, I still look like a student (not if you get close to my eyes, though), because I dress, well, with deliberation, but there are some gaps.

I had a perfectly servicaeble and presentable black canvas bookbag throughout grad school, which my parents gave me to congratulate me on getting in, and which disintegrated promptly on graduation (magic book bag?) Having no time, or really, no patience, I’m not *that* busy) to procure a new one, I fell back on my purse, which is small and stylish and, for days when I needed to bring a heavy book, or a big lunch, or my gym stuff (read: every day) I would have my old book bag, which is a) emblazoned with the word “bloomie’s,” b) fuschia, and c) 21 years old.

I’ve been using this bag for *months* and it occurred to me only today that it is hideously unprofessional to be lugging to work, no matter how brilliant the books inside. So I had a minor freak-out, which justified a trip to the mall. Hurrah!

Oh, I had the full mall experience: my way was impeded by unsupervised toddlers and angry teens in do-rags, I looked at bizarre herbal products from the GMC, and bought cherry-banana fat-free, sugar-free frozen yoghurt from a charming nervous Asian girl (“She’s new,” explained the charming nervous Asian boy who was directing her in fruit apportioning. I nodded encouragingly. “I’m new, too, but I been here a week already.” “You’re both doing great,” I told them, and they beamed as I took my dessert. It was fuschia, too, and awful. When will I learn?

I bought no bag, because these are the years of bling, and I can’t do with that much shininess on a leather bag. I saw some nice things, but they all had at least big buckles and zips. For a minute, I got confused and thought I liked a pink patent leather thing, but I stopped myself. I can’t wait until my 40s to get this right. I’m going somewhere more conservative tomorrow, I think. On my way out of the big Scarborough mall, I got myself embroiled at the crosswalk and almost didn’t make it (Scarborough is like a dangerous lover–once you are in her arms, the only way out might be death).

I had a perfect time.

Carry the news
RR