The Commitment Revisited

Come Friday morning, my sweet daughter and I will load up my car and head north and slightly east for our eagerly anticipated yearly sojourn to Maine where we will enjoy a four-day weekend. It was during last year’s trip that we made a commitment to each other that we would cease and desist our compulsive clothing-shoes-bags-cosmetics buying for one year.  I had been thinking about it for several weeks before I unveiled my plan to her. It took her less than 24 hours to come willingly on board.

Neither of us can believe the year is over already.  I thought that I would spend more time writing about it as I grappled with urges and impulses. Strangely enough, there weren’t that many.  Yes, there were a few times when I came close to cheating.  As winter dragged on, seeming never to end in the northeast or anywhere else, I lusted after spring clothes in the few catalogs I hadn’t cancelled.  After months of moving them directly from mailbox to garbage can, I started browsing again. I began to get emails from my favorite stores with subject lines,  “We’ve missed you”,  along with “Just for you” coupons in the mail if I’d only return to the fold. But I didn’t succumb to the enticements and the urges went away once I was able to wash those sweaters one last time and unearth another season’s clothing from storage.

A trip into a Kohl’s in early May where I stopped to look for slim chinos for my skinny brother almost got me into trouble.  I was in a hurry, since I was en route home from seeing him and still had 4-1/2 hours to go. As an infrequent visitor to Kohl’s,  I didn’t know where to find the pants  so I just turned right as I burst into the store, figuring I’d run into them sooner or later.  At the end of the first aisle, displayed on a model was a turquoise and navy striped casual top, the colors heather-like. I stopped. Anyone who knows me well knows I like any color as long as it’s blue or purple. Anyone who knows me well would have stopped at this display and thought, “That top looks just like Jan.” My sister or my daughter or my best friend, had they been the ones stopping at this display might actually have bought it, thinking it would be a great gift.  I looked at it closely, found my size, thought, “No, keep going.” I kept going, found the pants, bought the pants, and went back to the top.  I argued with myself  -- “That’s so cute. You don’t have anything like it. It would go with so many things.” “Yes, it’s cute, but there will be other cute things. You don’t need it.” “But I WANT it.” “But you will feel terrible if you cheat. “ So I wrote down the brand and all the identifying information I could locate and got out of Kohl’s, integrity intact.

But it was not the end of it. I REALLY coveted that top. I looked it up on line, toyed with putting it in my shopping cart, and went through the same argument with myself all over again. “You don’t need it.” “But I WANT it.”  Two weeks’ later, pulled by a magnet into the same Kohl’s store, it was still there.  I picked it up, thought about trying it on, put it down.  My heart knew that I really would feel worse cheating than leaving it behind. I resolved to stop torturing myself.

Then I went to Paris in June with my best friend. Wherever we go, we shop. Before leaving, I formulated a plan. My daughter had been to Paris several years ago and came back with “stuff” for me – a small replica of the Eiffel Tower, a print of Degas’ sculpture of the 14-year-old Dancer, a trendy bag, a magnet.  I promised myself that I would be selective – perhaps if I found a small piece of inexpensive art in Montmarte, or another Degas print from Musee D’Orsay, I would buy them. But this would not be a trip of accumulation. Since I already had some things from Paris, I didn’t need to overdo it.  I did well and wasn’t tempted by too much. Things were frightfully expensive anyway, always a deterrent. I got vicarious pleasure from watching my friend shop.  I had fun buying some things for my daughter. And then I saw “The Dress.” It was in a corner store, displayed on a mannequin in the window -- a blue and white sun dress.  Just the type of dress one might wear to a polo match (not that I’ve ever been to one).  Feminine, pretty…… and blue.  We saw it one evening after dark – the store was closed. It was drizzling slightly outside. We were tired and eager to get back to our hotel. But afterwards, I could not get the dress out of my mind.  We spent time during the subsequent two evenings looking for the store again – we had failed to note its location the first time around, and only knew the general neighborhood.  The night before we left to come home, we finally found it --  open this time.  The dress on the mannequin was the only one left in that color. I checked the price tag – 150 Euros. Gasp. There were other dresses in the same style, different patterns on the racks, so rather than undress the mannequin, I tried on one of those.  I gazed at myself in the dressing room mirror, not really enamored with how the dress looked on me. Maybe I would have liked it better ten years ago. I was disappointed and also relieved.  150 Euros.  I’m not a math whiz but I knew that was about $215. I left the dressing room and put the dress back on the rack. “How’d you like it?” my friend asked. “Nah,” I said. “Not quite right.” Leaving the store, I peeked at the size tag on the mannequin model’s dress. It was not my size.  More relief.  As we walked down the street, I thanked my friend for her patience in helping me find the store again. She wanted to know what I would have done had I liked the dress on me AND had the blue one been the right size.  I told her that I hoped the fact that I wouldn’t spend over $200 on a dress in the United States would have deterred me ultimately from spending that amount on a dress in another country.

Two near misses.  One solid year without shopping for clothes I did not need.  This is notwithstanding the underwear and shirt my brother’s and my little side trip to Cody necessitated (see You Forgot My Suitcase, 7/17/11).   

My daughter and I have considered what the end of this commitment means. We’ve both been cleaning out our closets, getting rid of things we don’t/won’t wear, things we shouldn’t have bought in the past but did. She assesses she needs a new black bag for work. I need new sneakers. I actually noticed a hole in mine early this week. I know that I still, even a year later, do not need anything more. I can easily go another fall, winter, spring and summer on what I have. Am I bored with some of my things? Perhaps a little. Can I manage that boredom? Absolutely. Does this mean I’m signing on for another year of a no-shopping-commitment? You bet.