Trial rooms and me do not mix

When in stores, I often pick up loads of clothes that I can swear I saw on the pages of Vogue, and then I walk straight to the cash counter. Right as this happens I am met with quizzical (sometimes horrified) looks from my friends who just cannot believe that I would buy clothes without trying them on. See the thing is, when I look at clothes, I create an immaculate vision of how they will look on me. Stripes will work with florals and that green will just add so much zing to the grey. 

But I never ever feel the need to go to the trial room. Ok, so then you ask, do the clothes always fit just right? Absolutely not. 

There is a genetic defect in me. The need to buy things to return them. Now of course, this could be avoided if I just bought the right size the first time around, but then this would mean going against what I’ve always known: everything must eventually be exchanged for the right size. (I call it a genetic defect because every second family member has the same problem)

So I happily bring the clothes home and then wait to try them on until ‘I’m ready.’ And that could be until I am ‘in the mood to espouse this particular sense of style.’ This could also be a good 3-4 weeks from when I bought it. So I try it and as the fashion gods would deem worthy, it sometimes fits like a glove and sometimes like a tent. And then…you guessed right…it’s too late to return it. And then I’m stuck with it (if the tent metaphor comes into play). So I try to beg and plead with salespeople, try and pawn it off to friends or look for ways to alter it to fit the vision I had for it. But you know the truth, that rarely ever works. 

But that brings me to where this all began. Why did I just not try it? Truth is. I hate trail rooms. I find waiting in line, holding a bunch of clothes and a number, very tiring and time consuming (of course in the grand scheme of things, these 5 minutes would save me a lot of time). I would rather just walk straight to the cash counter and be out of there, my head filled with images of what a fashionista I will look like once I put together this ensemble. 

I also find trial rooms overcrowded and slightly small. And then there are the ones with those lights right above your head, the ones that cast a horrible shadow on your face, making it seem like you have a witch’s nose and a chin that’s rapidly arching its way up to meet the tip of it. It’s a horrendous sight. I much prefer the lighting at home, it’s normal and just the right amount of dim to be flattering. 

So as you can see, trail rooms and myself just do not mix. We are happy to remain at opposite ends of the store. They can keep filling up their insides with eager consumers that have the patience to test each purchase, whereas I will relish my 20 minutes of retail therapy as I walk away with Vogue-worthy images of me in that new top. 



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