I hate shopping for clothes. There are a number of reasons for this.
- When I was a teenager, the disparity between my taste and my mother’s led to some truly impressive fights, pretty much any time we went shopping; I therefore associate clothes shopping with being yelled at and having my opinion ignored.
- Mum and I still aren’t really on the same page, as evidenced by the stuff she buys me when I’m not around to stop her. Our current shopping trips are less teary, but they’re still a weird battle of wills between my taste and hers.
- Go through your closet and see what you need. Make sure you’re wearing appropriate undergarments, including a bra that’s fairly typical of the bras you own. Get to the store. Go through it, picking out things you think will fit based on how they fit hangars and mannequins. Pick out a size, guessing whether this store runs to small or large. Get a dressing room opened, but remember you can’t take everything in at once lest you try to escape with a pair of pants stuffed in your shirt. Try things on–aside from being an exercise in masochism, this is tedious. If you’re shopping alone and you need another size or more of the stuff you picked out, get fully dressed again to go fetch it.
It doesn’t help that I have little money for clothes. Heck, from my brief scan of the mall over Labor Day, I actually rather like many of this season’s styles, but I can’t afford to buy them…