Shop Suey

This weekend Neighbor J and I went a-shopping. There are many ways that she and I have an uncanny connection (like being able to remember every single episode of Little House on the Prairie with alarming savant-like detail), and shopping is one of them. It goes beyond liking the same stores (we do) and spending hours on sites like Zappos, Nanette Lepore, and Betsey Johnson and emailing each other outfits with accompanying commentary (we do that too). It's a shopping-behavior connection. You know all those studies that talk about information-seeking behavior and how there are patterns depending on the variables involved? Well Neighbor J and I have identical fashion-seeking behavior. We browse the same way, we pick out the same way, we need a snack at the same time. It's honestly a little eerie. We have the same understandings about color, lines, texture, and craftsmanship. If something's badly sewn, we both pick up on the same seam. We can break a piece of clothing down within five minutes. We can say things like "I'm not feeling the shoulder straps, they're too slopey for my shoulders, and the ruching is too high on the midsection, but the tie-behind brings out the backline well and the bias-cut makes a good shelf-butt" and the other person will know exactly what that means. On the other hand, we can also try something on, and just say '"it's cute, right?" and the other person will say "yeah, totally" and we're done. D-U-N, done. It's a meeting of the minds, I tell you, and I treasure it. This girl can speak-a my language, but not give me a vegamite sandwich, which is always appreciated.

One of the things we always do is make a sweep through the stores that we totally can't afford. Some of the stuff in there is so crazy-strange, we wonder what kind of gajillionaire is paying for it. This time around we found a pair of denim short-shorts, that had tight, bunchy elastic around the bottoms. That's right- basically it was a pair of adult Huggies, without the absorbency. Who's going to pay ten bucks for that, let alone the two hundred smackers it was going for? I mean, at least throw in some wetness protection or something. We also once found a blazer that had a gigantic fake branch sewn onto the lapel, with big purple cloth radishes entwined in it. Just as I yelled out "Ha ha! This one has radishes on it!" the saleslady walked by wearing the exact blazer and gave us an evil look. It was like we were Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman trying to shop on Rodeo Drive. No offense, lady. But you do have a salad on your coat there. In BCBG, we saw an entire ritzy-looking family in London Fog style trench coats. A mom who looked like Leona Helmsley, a daughter that looked like Paris Hilton, and a son who looked like Ashley Hamilton. Inspector Gadget times three. Why the three matching coats? The family who trenches together, stays together? Apparently so. We also were appalled at the safari-wear that's coming back in style in some places. What's up with that? Only Indiana Jones should dress like Indiana Jones. And maybe not even then. Lastly, Neighbor J is the only person that I write about on this blog whose blog-nickname is her actual real-life nickname. I really call her "Neighbor." We were next-door neighbors for a long time, and so we started calling each other "Neighbor" in jest, and it never stopped. So as we shop, we call this out. "Hey Neighbor! Look at this!" "Oh my gawd, Neighbor, that's sick!" "Oh I can totally see this on my Neighbor." I never really thought about how odd this must seem to those who overhear us. It's like a cross between Sex in the City and Mr. Rogers. Fashion fabulousness and neighborly niceness all in one. It doesn't seem quite right. But it's just who we are. Shoppy soulmates. Now all we need are the matching trench coats.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl