Wednesday, March 10, 2010
This is quite possibly why I haven’t blogged for a while. The last time I went into a shop was for the epic $7.50 Supre sale. My last big haul before the drought. Those clothes mean nothing to me now!
I walked into Number 1 Shoes about a week ago looking for a cheap pair of shoes to finish off my 80s prom party attire. I gave myself a limit of $40 – pretty generous considering the tight grip I’ve had on the purse strings lately (but we all know the shoes make the outfit). I didn’t find pink shoes for the prom. What I found were the cutest patent leopard-print pumps I have ever coveted. They didn’t even look like they had come from a nasty cheap store. They had my size. I tried them on. The result was spectacular! I loved those shoes. I loved them like I love my Emily Strange evil cat slippers which I’ve had to gaffa tape up so many times the soles collect little pieces of everywhere I go.
I don’t know if I have ever walked out on a cheap pair of delightful shoes in my entire shopping life. Only $40! They could have been mine. They still could be! Even a day before pay day I could rock down there right now and own those babies. But I’m thinking of the cause.
I’m so dedicated to my Melbourne retail frenzy I am thinking like some sort of rational, economically minded adult. Not the free-willed shop-loving child that usually takes hold of my wallet when boredom strikes. Or any other emotion that can be fixed with shiny new things.
It’s my own fault really. I booked flights five weeks out. I’m making repayments on a car. There was always going to be limited funding for this trip. What’s scary is that I’ve transcended consumer immaturity to the point of making a priority list of things I am allowed to buy. All unallocated funds will be accessible after the purchase of:
1) New winter coat
2) Brown leather boots
That doesn’t seem like much of a list to look at, but winter essentials are more expensive. There’s no $7.50 sale going on here. This is investment shopping at its best.
I’m sure this level of maturity will pass once the aforementioned items are in my hands. I’m packing very little in the hope of finding bargain heaven and milking it dry. But until then, I may not be the Hazel you know and love. I walk past shops without going in. I see sales without offering up my bank card.
I turned by back on the shoes.