I love to shop. And shopping as in “real life,” not online. I like to touch the fabrics, try the clothes on, and search for matching pieces when I find something I love. In real-life shopping, you’re surrounded by beautiful displays, larger-than-life glossy photographs, and endless options, often providing more effective relief from stress than therapy or, surprisingly, a good bottle of wine.
Which is not to say that all shopping brings forth the desired result of emotional feng shui.
Jeans shopping, for example, is a landmine of anti-zen. Standing in the dressing room, staring at 10 pairs of jeans and not one that fits, is hardly the prescription for inner peace. One pair squishes the belly up and over the top like a life-size apple muffin from Starbucks. Another pair sits so low on the torso, you can see China down one’s disturbingly visible butt crack. And yet another is so long on my wiener dog legs that by the time I have them hemmed, the “boot cut” is more accurately a “straight cut.”
Skinny jeans make me look like a Ball Park Frank, perilously close to bursting out of its casing at any moment. Relaxed Fit is another way of saying “saggy in the hips and butt.” (If that was the look I wanted, I’d just go naked.) Low-Rise is out (see above), but High-Waisted are reminiscent of Lee jeans in the 70s. They weren’t flattering then, and I was 30 years younger. And Hubs wonders why I live in yoga pants.
Then, of course, there’s the this-must-be-what Hell-feels-like swimsuit shopping.
An afternoon of Speedo shopping can tank a woman’s self-confidence faster than a morning weigh-in after girls’ night out over nachos and margaritas. There’s just something so wrong about staring at your pale, desperately-needs-bronzer body, after a winter of hibernating on the couch with unlimited Netflix streaming and a never-ending supply of frosted brownies (okay, maybe that’s just me), stuffed into an overpriced, tiny piece of spandex, while debating whether or not to wear it out in public. Oh hell, no.
We spend most of the year selecting and wearing clothes that, hopefully, detract the eye from our more visibly aging areas. But then when the sun comes out, we jump into a short toothpaste tube that broadcasts our every missed workout, bad food choice, “okay, just one more” glass of wine, and our losing battle with gravity like a neon arrow over our heads flashing “Let Herself Go and Doesn’t Care.”
Recently I’ve discovered a new shopping minefield. Bras.
Like many women, for years I’ve purchased bras based on the size and styles I’ve always worn. If it was pretty, with underwire and little lace, and reasonably priced, I was good to go. But over the past couple of years, my old standbys just weren’t “doing it” any more. It was painfully obvious that the basic lift bra was no longer enough to get those deflated party balloons back up closer to my clavicle than to my navel. This was going to take some professional intervention.
Off to Nordstrom, my go-to place for uncharted shopping territories. The lingerie department was beautiful, with a veritable sea of undergarment options that dizzied the mind. I found a vivacious 12-year-old saleswoman, who promptly ushered me into a plush, softly lit dressing room, and whipped out a measuring tape.
“Okay!” she chirped, flashing a bright, perfect smile, “let’s undress and I’ll measure you!”
“That’s not necessary,” I mumbled, “I know what size I wear.”
“Oh, no,” she shook her head and frowned, “Most women have been wearing the wrong size for years. That’s why their boobs look like that.”
Well, in the first place, you pre-pubescent Twinkie, that isn’t the reason their boobs “look like that.” It’s called gravity, and someday, if there is a God, even you will meet up with it. Until then, I’m well aware that mine resemble wind socks on a still day, but I’m counting on you to work around it.
Twinkie Girl quickly measured my chest (over the boobs), then smiled and said, “If you’ll lift up your breasts, I’ll measure your rib cage.” Lift up my breasts?? At this point, I didn’t know whether to laugh or just smack her with one of them. But since we were halfway through the process, I just sighed and hefted up one Beanie Baby in each hand, so she could do her duty. Turns out I’d been wearing the wrong size forever.
She gave me a bright, $10,000-in-orthodontia smile and said, “I’m going out to get you some styles to try on. Stay here. I’ll be right back!” (Where was I going?? I was half-naked, the bra I was wearing earlier was apparently completely unacceptable and had been summarily tossed, and braless tends to make me look like a cover model for National Geographic, the Safari Edition.)
Twinkie Girl returned a short time later with a basket full of bras in my new size. She watched as I tried on the first two, then instructed, “They work better if you lean forward and just let your boobs sort of fall into them.” That helped, but they still weren’t getting “up there” like I wanted.
As I stood in front of Twinkie Girl, she studied my breasts for a minute with a small frown, and then said, “Here’s what you do.” She leaned towards me, stuck her hand down my bra and lifted my boob up further into the cup. OMG.
I don’t even let Hubs do that.
I stood in mortified silence, until she whispered, “Now look.”
I turned and looked in the mirror. And there they were. My perky, back-up-there-where-God-originally-put-them boobs, happily chatting with their long-lost neighbors, my clavicles. I was dazzled.
Twinkie Girl gave me a moment to stare at my bouncy new chest and then brought it home with, “And they’re on sale for $85. Oh, and you should wash them after every two wearings, so you’ll need at least two. One in nude and one in black. Shall I wrap them up?”
$85?? On sale???
I looked again. She had me, and she knew it. Wrap up the black one. I’m wearing the nude. And call the bank. My car payment is going to be late.
I just did this at a specialty bra shop. The 8 year old bra specialist went to measure me and I stripped. The look of shock on her face when I, without a care in the world, let ’em fly. “Oh, oh, ok. Umm” I just looked at her and said “after kids, there’s no modesty. You need a minute?!”
$116 later I have 3 gorgeous, back under my chin, bras.
Yay!
You can see China down one’s disturbingly visible butt crack … wind socks on a still day …
Love your writing! It’s teaming with hysterically descriptive metaphors. Thanks for the morning chuckle! And I LOVED the ending! That’s how I am when someone says something makes me look thin!
Hahahahahahahah! Sorry but Hahahahahahahhah! I would have slapped her face and bought the damn bras!
I cannot remember ever laughing so hard in my life! You are a fabulously descriptive writer who seems to sneak into my mind to exactly how I think. I hate to shop though because of all the above that and the fact that every store you go to seems to have music blasting like your at a RAP concert! I need new bras desperately haven’t went this route yet but have been considering it. If you can do it I guess I can too! Thanks for a great Monday morning laugh, can’t wait to share this one with my girlfriends!
I had kind of the opposite of the “twinkie” experience after I bought a mother-of-the-bride dress and had to have “fittings” (right there). The seamstress was ancient and was clomping around with her tape around her neck and the next thing I knew the curtain was swished open while I was trying to pull it up and she said, “You see is fitting? Is good?” These places, where modesty goes to die.
$85?? Ugh, why do we even have these things?
Oh the price of beauty! Wow! $85 underwear! I really should do this … but just don’t know if I’m ready to be that pretty yet. And besides, when I do finally make this much needed change I’m afraid my friends and family will no longer recognize me. :D You make me love Mondays, Vikki – always something new and excellent from you to read and laugh about. Thank you!!!!
Unfortunately those $85 bras are usually the best of the bunch! Such a funny post.
I tried the whole getting measured thing once. Even that lady couldn’t find a bra that fit my chest properly without making me look like a had a fabulous set of knockers on my back.
I’ve always had to lift mine. But would be startled if the BraMistress did it.
Oh my…as I sit here in my $135CDN bra from exactly the sort of Wonder-Boutique you describe, I am thinking you might actually live in our city, and I just don’t know it. Also: those ridiculously expensive over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders? TOTALLY WORTH EVERY PENNY. Just saying.
Enthusiastic, yes..but touching w/o asking wasn’t very smart of her. Of course, I loved your telling of the tale!
I just got new bras, went to a local lingerie shop. It was my first time ever to go ‘big’. A young woman helped me in the dressing room; outside was a guy, Sven who really knew his stuff. I think the female helper was surprised when I opened the curtain to let Sven see each bra on me to help him judge what I needed. After all why be modest at this point. I loved what I got and how I look…the worst part was discovering I’d gone up a size. I new feel overly matronly in a 40D (omg) . (Fat back!)
This is so funny!! I need these bras though if they pick things up from the fetuccini effect I have going on now — help me and share!
Too funny but true. God Bless Nordstom’s bra fitters even if yours was a Twinkie. Growing up My Mother took us to a lingerie store where the woman came at you as you walked in the door with her hand already in a cup to ‘hand measure you’. She also did the pull the girls into place trick while asking you to bend forward.
Ha! BEEN THERE!! And loved this!
This is why I absolutely hate shopping. Honestly? I bring everything home. Bras? I went to Nordstrom’s for my first fitting with a friend who was a size 0. I told her to go to the opposite end of the dressing room because I didn’t want her to hear what the fitter would say about my larger (much) than size 0 breasts would need.
Such a funny post. Honestly? I agree with Sharon about having to spend the $$ to get the better bra. Ugh!
Oh my goodness!, I know I desperately need to go through the whole “proper” fitting thing but I just don’t have the heart to do it—yet! Mid-40’s, 2 kids, yep I’m there but just still in denial I guess! Thanks for the laugh and—-encouragement?
Yep, I went through the same process. The right bra is a reason to rejoice. I’ll give you a jean tip, check out Not Your Daughter’s Jeans, not too low, not too high and takes a size off your body. I have 5 pairs.
Very funny! This leaning forward and letting your boobs fall into the bra must be the new thing because that’s what the lady at Neiman-Marcus had me do. And it worked like a charm.
It seems that the bra industry has found a way for us to spend the money we’re now saving on our senior discounts. Those expensive bras are better, but boy isn’t there a sticker shock?
“Boobs that look like that.” Twinkie Girl needs a bitch slap.
I didn’t realize that being fitted for a bra involved such complexity. I guess the nearest male equivalent is when the tailor asks, ‘Which way do you hang?’ when measuring for suit-trousers.
Funny post.
I cannot stop laughing Vikki. I am not going in for a bra fitting! I don’t think I can do it. Heck, mine barely exist anyway.
I laughed so damn hard at this. You were felt up. In the dressing room. By a 12 year old. Brilliant.
This article has convinced me to make the investment in a better bra WITH a proper fitting. However, not looking forward to the extra help.
I think I’d like to know which kind you bought…or at least where you went (not because I’m looking for the, ahem, treatment but because she knew what she was doing!) This was hilarious, every bit of it.
Hi Vikki; Following a Google image search for sagging boobs is what brought me to your site! Believe it or not, I’ve been strategically maneuvering my boobs into place for quite some time now and I just burst out laughing at your ecard comment. :) You have a new subscriber. Cheers!
Thanks, Debbie! You just made my day! (And you were Google searching sagging boobs?? Hilarious!) :)