Window Shopping

I’m starting to get a little more adjusted to my new life–one that involves looking at price tags, saying no to dinners at Smith and Wollensky, deleting discount offer e-mails from Banana Republic, and learning to “shop” in my own closet.

My main objective these last few weeks was not to get caught in my old habits. In addition to applying for a part-time job and only getting one manicure in two weeks, I also decided to try to apply and understand more of the suggestions friends have given me for my new bout with poverty. My first objective was to research a friend’s suggestion I received last week: “In order to save money, it would be wise if you just went ‘window shopping’.” At the time, I wasn’t really sure what that meant. After considering it for a bit, I figured that what she meant was that I shouldn’t deny myself a trip or two to certain shops, but that I should just make a game of it, and not actually buy anything. I guess I had no clue that this was an option. Why would you just not buy the things you wanted? I mean, why are you in the store if you’re not buying anything. I didn’t get it. But I was willing to try.

One Saturday, I went to a few stores to see exactly what it’s like to enter a store, look at items you want to purchase, and not be able to do so. I started at Bloomingdale’s. I guess I should admit that I actually never intended to resist buying something if I really needed it. I first stopped at the YSL counter, because if I was going to be in Bloomie’s I might as well pick up some lip gloss. I told myself, “This is not an indulgence, everyone wears lip gloss.” From there I found myself at the watch counter. Now, I used to wear watches all the time, but in the past few years I have not worn or bought any new watches. This summer I did see this fabulous white Marc Jacobs watch (super cute–in the shape of a daisy–inspired by his perfume, “Daisy,” I suppose), but I never purchased it. Since getting a watch was neither in my budget nor in my plans, this would be a good time to test my abilities as a window shopper. I tried on a few watches but none really tickled my fancy. I was doing well.

Next to shoes. I was sure the shoe department would offer some temptation, and there they were, staring at me–a black pair of Rebecca Taylor Ruffle High Heel Mary Jane Pumps. I politely asked the sales assistant to bring out the shoes for me.

“Sure, one second,” she responded.

As I waited, I noticed that my heart rate was slightly elevated and my palms were almost sweaty. I’m a sucker for a pair of Mary Janes and these had ruffles. I love ruffles! Ruffles, Ruffles, Ruffles! In fact, the word “ruffle” is on my 100 Favorite Words of All Time list. It’s nestled between “lovely” and “girth” (wink).

After the sales assistant returned with the shoes, I slid the left one on first, since my left foot is bigger than my right. It fit perfectly. I added the right shoe and it was almost as though they conformed to my feet. They made me feel really young and girly but the high heel made me feel sexy. I started walking around the store forgetting about my own shoes. As I pranced around, checking out in the mirror how the height of the heel appeared to lift my butt a little, I realized how tall and pretty I felt with the shoes. The sales associate looked over at me, smiling–probably knowing that she’d made a good choice in helping me because there was no way I wasn’t going home with these shoes.

“Will you take them?” she asked.

“Yes.”

I removed the shoes and placed them perfectly back in the box. I was already thinking of all the places I was going to wear them. They would go perfectly with my new leather elbow gloves and hot pink wool coat with ¾ inch sleeves that I didn’t own just yet (but I will once I get a part-time job).

Standing at the register while waiting for the woman in front of me to make her signature in the electronic reader that never seems to work, I heard another sales associate ask a different customer if she needed any help. She responded,

“No, I’m just window shopping.”

Shit . . . Window shopping . . . That’s what you’re supposed to be doing.

My attention cut back to the sale in front of me: “Your total is . . .”

As she gave the price I kept hearing the words of the other customer, “No, I’m just window shopping.” Yes, but now I can’t turn back; I’m here, she’s already rung them up. I have to buy them. Then, all of a sudden, thoughts of a time before when I was much younger came crashing in. I remembered how, when going to the store with my aunt, no matter where we were, she would approach the checkout counter with more items than she could afford. She would do this song-and-dance about how she could not decide what she really wanted before she reached the counter and how she needed the sales associate’s help. She always placed her favorite items first and after every third item she would ask for the total. Once she was within a certain amount she would allow the sales associate to pick the final item she would purchase. I’m sure she could see the embarrassment in my face, but she would assure me that the sales associate loved this charade–she said it broke up the monotony of his or her day. I never bought this story, though, since I knew that after we left, the sales associate would still have to put back the twenty or so items that we didn’t buy.

I took my bag from the smiling sales associate who was more than happy to walk around the counter to hand me the bag. I said “Thanks,” though I left feeling a bit defeated. As soon I got home I tried on the shoes. Wow, they are so gorgeous. But they are not in my budget. I can’t afford them. They have to go back.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m the queen of returns, but I’ve never returned something I loved. So when Sunday morning arrived, I was dreading the day; The Day of the Return. I got up and put on every outfit I owned that looked cute with my shoes. I tried on dresses, skirts, pants, even a bikini; outfits with colored tights, patterned tights, and bare legs. The shoes were perfect with all of them.

“I can’t do it. I can’t take them back,” I told a friend.

“But you have to. You need to take control of this,” she responded.

“I know... but I love them. People have a right to love things, and it’s all Lauren’s fault–I knew nothing about this damn window shopping bullshit until she brought it up! If it wasn’t for her I would only have stopped in Bloomie’s to get my lip gloss and would have been on my merry way. Let’s see, I could not buy groceries all month and use my normal monthly allowance to keep the shoes. Yes, that’s what I will do. Celebrities starve themselves all the time. Plus, I can eat on Sundays at my friend’s house, and then during the week, I could be like the vultures at work and prey on after-lunch-meeting leftovers, or better yet, I could only schedule lunch meetings this week and therefore be sure to have food! This could work. Plus, I have some cans of soup, rice, and beans. I just read a book where an entire family survived off of maggot-infested canned ham, butter, and grapes, and all the children grew up to be productive citizens. Plus, this whole poverty plan is about deprivation, right?”

My friend waited for me to finish all my ludicrous scenarios and finally said, “You’re taking them back.”

A lesson to all: there is no such thing as fucking window shopping.