I woke up this morning and lazed in bed reading my usual Saturday digest of words-from-around-the-internet (a.k.a. all the rss feeds in my mailbox that I haven't had a chance to read during the week). This usually consists of a hodge-podge of news, politics, random geek stuff, baking/food, fashion, transportation, art and other weird and wonderful topics. It was the last of those topics, however, that was to lead me into a spot of hot water as the day progressed.
I love beautiful clothes. Actually, take that back a step, I love beautiful things, things that are aesthetically pleasing, with beautiful lines and colours. That love of beautiful things has always translated into a fondness for beautiful clothes, something that, in my mind, differs quite markedly from fashion. I don't care in the slightest about fashion, beyond the fact that some fashion houses, by virtue of the fact that their designers are talented and are in possession of fairly large amounts of resources, produce some stunning garments. But the notion of fashion as it exists on a daily basis, the slavish following of one trend after another, with little-to-no regard for what actually suits people, holds zero interest for me.
In any case, my regular blog-dose consists of a number of blogs written by people whose personal style I like or who are designing things that I think are interesting. This morning's catch up consisted of a fair amount of one of these blogs and the onset of spring (yes, I can hear you laughing from here) left me feeling inspired to rejuvenate my wardrobe. My mind was filled with images of dresses and unfortunately I didn't have a sketch book with me where I was staying. Circumstances seemed to be conspiring against me further, as at that point, my phone rang and my comfy couch lazing was interrupted by my brother, requesting my assistance on an errand.
Errand satisfied and good deed for the day done, I found myself on High Street and as luck would have it, the City Designer's Market was on. I have been meaning to visit this market since its inception, but I always forget or have something else on. It seemed my good deed was being rewarded!
I loathe the shopping experience in general. I hate the stores with their pushy assistants, who clearly don't give a crap about the products or the place they work in. I hate the loud and unpleasant music. I hate malls, but I also hate streets, like Queen Street, filled with people who just don't seem to know pavement etiquette. I hate how every store seems to want to sign you up to some shitty loyalty program, just so they can spam you with email, but how every single loyalty program is a steaming pile of turd that seems to offer nothing more than taking up space in your wallet. Then there's on-line shopping, which is a whole separate rant, but I shan't get into that now, because I already sound like a grouchy wench.
To my surprise and pleasure, the City Designer's Market was a pleasurable shopping experience indeed. It is a staffed by the designers themselves and they are wonderfully helpful and definitely not pushy. They listen to what you have to say and as the makers of the clothes, have an eye for what would suit you and a knowledge of the fit of each of the garments. They are full of helpful suggestions on styling, not just with their own garments, but with those of each other as well. The room had a refreshingly laid back air, so much so that I didn't mind coming out into the main room to use the"best" mirror to view the garments. They inspire genuine confidence, something which cannot often be said about clothes shopping for those of us who are not sticks.
To top it off, the clothes themselves were beautiful. Well made, nice attention to detail and gorgeous colour palettes used. I'll definitely be going back, especially to check out their sale stock, I picked up some wonderful bargains, including a fabulous singlet top and skirt from Flox's range for $20 each and a bright, fun Harriet Falvey dress for $89.00. Bargain! Well, I say bargain, I still spent far more money than I had intended when I walked out the front door. It seems shopping at an excellent retailer after reading a good fashion blog is like venturing into a supermarket on an empty stomach. One should consume a cheeseburger first. Or something.
Musing on quite how much money retailers could make if they could only replicate that particular delightful place, I began my trip home and as I did, the little girl inside me squeed with glee and went "HURRY UP, I WANT TO BE HOME NOW!" in excitement. Not because I had anything particularly exciting to head home to, you see, but purely because I still have not grown out of my little-girl love of getting home and putting on my pretty clothes that I have just bought and dancing around the house. It does not matter one bit that I have *just* worn them in the shop, I must still wear them at home and I must do so immediately. To the extent where if I am shopping with somebody else, something that I absolutely loathe with a passion and avoid at all costs, I find myself mildly resentful (and having to hide the fact) and have to force myself not to make excuses to head home and partake in this most strange of habits.
We were not a particularly wealthy family when I was small and I did not often get new, store-bought clothes. The vast majority of my wardrobe was hand-me-downs from Mum's cousins' children or things Grandma had knitted or things Mum had whipped up for me on her trusty sewing machine. Of course now, I dream of clothes whipped up for me, created bespoke on a sewing machine that fit me perfectly. One of the top 3 items on Nat's List Of Things To Learn is how to sew properly. In any case, being bought something from an actual STORE was pretty exciting. I remember sitting in the car on the way home, with the new purchase in its bag on my lap, wriggling with excitement and I guess I haven't grown out of that.
And you know what, I don't think that I want to.
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