Friday, October 21, 2011

Shopping Finds

My shopping therapy does not involve excessive buys, the latest trends nor searches for sales. It involves the search through thrift stores for the golden finds.

At regular stores, it is normal to find your size and the right shade of color, especially in shirts. The stores help shoppers make choices by displaying maniquins or pictures of great clothing combinations and the staff spend their days looking at clothing and are eager to point out good fits. Especially in boutiques, the staff will pick out options and even be honest about what looks good. People who are "experts" in shopping are like runners on treadmills, sure they can go the mileage but they don't compare to a high altitude trail runner.

Thrift stores are the high altitude trail runners without shoes. Maybe, the shopper will be lucky and find the clothing arranged by type, size, and color. Maybe there will be a dressing room. Maybe the dressing room will be more than a booth with a cloth shower curtain that is large enough to set your bag down.

Employees at these stores are utilitarian, put out stock and ring up the cash register. They aren't paid for fashion consciousness, the shopper must bring it. Nothing can be ordered nor does it come in various sizes. Go to a thrift shop for an outfit and be ready to use skills of selection and coordination.

But the prize of a thrift store find can be worth it. A full outfit can be purchased for pennies on the dollar of a retail shop and the style ends up completely personalized. Originality comes at the price of time and effort.

Plus it's more environmental.





Thursday, October 20, 2011

Music on the CTA

Chicago is a blessed city. It has a public transportation system that actually works, not just an effort to have one. Using this system, no one really needs to own a car. In the city, the system is called the CTA.

On the CTA today, I felt the pains of youth. I felt them because a fellow driver was in the throngs of it. She had her Ipod playing club music and a tatoo of a raven on her writst. I know this because I heard her music and saw her wrist. The Ipod was turned up so loud that everyone in the card could enjoy her music...


She didn't notice the volume escaping her earbuds. Her concerns were over the puff in her lips and replies to her text. Her mood followed the music and none of it reflected the scorn in her seat mate nor the humor in my dancing to her music. O, to be young again and not care but for the text of a boy...