Buying Away the Blues

Just Doing a Quick Size Exchange at Nordstrom. I’ll Only be 5 Minutes. Really.

That’s not me. That is my jacket.
Photo: Courtesy of Nordstrom

I have something I need to confess.

Last week, I self-pity shopped. It was a brief but highly successful retail therapy session that made me feel even better than a gazillion milligrams of Prozac mixed with a bottle of merlot and poured over a gallon of Edy’s Slow Churned probably could have.

It started innocently enough. I had an exchange to make at Nordstrom—one size blazer for another. I’d be in and out in five minutes.

But. Somehow on the short walk from car to mall, I started to feel liked I’d gained 20 pounds in two days. Before me appeared the face of every guy who had ever not texted or called me for a second date. I saw all my job applications in the reject pile on the desk of the editor at my dreamiest of dream jobs.

Then I bought a leather jacket, and I felt much better.

A Quick Lap Around the Store

This is also not me. My jacket, though.
Photo: Courtesy of Nordstrom

I mean, it was the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale, and all bets are pretty much off when fall clothes are marked down by a third. Plus, it was almost closing time and the store was all but empty. Over the weekend it had been crowded, and wasn’t there the chance that I’d missed something great because someone had planted herself in such a way as to block  my view of the perfect top? Just in case I’d better do a quick lap around the floor.

In my defense, Really Irritating Internal Voice (RIIV), I had been wanting a short black leather jacket for quite awhile and hadn’t had much luck finding one I liked in my price range. But there it was. Continue reading

An Open Letter to an Old Love

Dear Banana Republic, You and I have been the bosom-est of buddies for more than two decades. Back in the 1980′s when I was maybe 15, and my Denim Crises were relatively minor, it was a treat to visit your safari-themed store in downtown Boston. I loved that the decor included steamer trunks, and typewriters that appeared to hail from British colonial East Africa (yes, it romanticized British colonial East Africa, which is extremely problematic, I realize). It was like being on a safari– except you were shopping instead of dodging wild animals.

Not long after you ditched the safari theme in favor of sleek and modern fare, I graduated from college and became a working girl — in New York City!–and found myself regularly trolling the racks at your Lexingon Avenue store for proper working girl duds. Yes, Banana. For years, you have diligently and patiently solved many of my crises– denim and otherwise.

That’s why I felt so very betrayed this weekend when Continue reading