My Day At The Mall.
Today I had the day off from work, before I leave Canada tomorrow, and I am in need of some good black pants. Not only for a family photo being taken with my Grandma next week but also just because every girl needs a good pair of black pants, right? (I learned that on "What Not To Wear.")
Now, I, being of the female persuasion, happen to love shopping. But something funny happens when I go, especially when I am searching for a specific item. As you may know, I am quite comfortable with my body, and I appreciate it and try to take care of it and exercise when I can (or when I feel like it) and normally make it a habit to not let other people (or magazines or society in general) make me feel bad about the way I am. That being said, I have a lot of trouble finding things that fit me properly, as I apparently have very unusual proportions (as in, I am not six feet tall, nor do I have a concave stomach or wear a C-cup).
So, I had nothing else to do today, and no one to do it with, because all of the people I know in The 'Couve (as I've come to call Vancouver) are all on set. Plus it was pouring rain outside so, having grown up in the suburbs, I know there was only one thing to do: go to the mall! Two blocks from my hotel on Robson Street is the Pacific Centre, a rather upscale mall filled with expensive (to me, anyway) stores like BCBG, Guess, MaxMara, Mexx, Banana Republic, and Sears (okay, maybe Sears isn't that upscale). Ironically, half of the stores within the Centre have duplicate shops along Robson Street, many within 4 blocks of the Centre. I'm not sure what the point of this mall is, except to collect all of the shops into a one-stop shopping place for rainy days such as this.
I look on the directory and try to locate the stores I know I'll probably be able to afford. American Eagle it is! They must have black pants, right? So I stroll along towards AE and on my left is a place called Stitches. There seem to be a ton of cute clothes and pants in there, and it seems like a Canadian Old Navy, but a little edgier, as some of their jeans are dark-washed and have red seams. I pop in and start looking for some pants in my size. All I find in a pile of 100 pairs of jeans are size zeros. "What?" I think, "This can't be right." I search and search among dozens of stacks of jeans, thinking maybe the outside labels are wrong, but no. All inside labels say "0", "00", or "zero". By the way, who knew there was a size double zero?? I move on to the slacks, the capris, the corduroys, etc. All say size zero. "Am I in the anorexic twilight zone??" I think. I look around me. Nobody seems abnormally thin. Are Canadian sizes different? For some reason, I continue my search and finally find a size 1. Well, at least we're getting somewhere. I keep sifting and after going through 90% of the store's selection I find a few 3s, one 5, and one 7. I shouldn't have even tried them on, just out of principle, but the pants were really cute, only $25, and I have ALL DAY to kill here so why not?
I am guided into the fitting room and as the door shuts behind me, I realize there is only one hook, no stand to put my purse or own clothes on, and no mirror. Excuse me?? NO MIRROR?? "Where am I??" I mutter. I mean, one of my biggest pet peeves is stores that have no little stands, because who wants to put their stuff on the floor?, but a lack of mirror in the fitting room just goes beyond.
I attempt to put on the first pair of pants (a size 3, which I admit is ambitious, but at Old Navy I'm sometimes a 4, so I threw caution to the wind). I quickly learn that they are skinny jeans, and I am scarcely able to get them up to my waist, the leg areas squeezed in begrudgingly. Fine. I'm not shocked nor shaken to learn that skinny jeans aren't for me (they're not for anybody except Kate Moss). I try the other 3s on just for masochistic fun and it's the same story. I hopefully move on to the size 5. Surprisingly, the waist fits the same (which is to say they don't), the pants are just longer. Well, that doesn't help someone who's 5'4". I peel them off and try on the 7, and when the waist is still corset-tight, the leg hem gathering in bunches past my feet, I angrily put my own, comfortable clothes back on and leave everything sitting on the dusty floor of the fitting room.
I move on, still in search of the American Eagle (shouldn't they call it Canadian Eagle here? Or perhaps Generally North American Eagle?) and stop by Banana Republic. They're definitely more expensive than I prefer, but I do have a 20% Off coupon that I got with my New Yorker Festival tickets (which is this weekend, which I'm missing, so I should get something out of the deal, right?) so I wander in. Their clothes are nice, classic, with clean lines. I figure anything I get here I could wear for a long time. However, all of their pants are high-waisted and look a bit matronly on me, and even the dresses I try on make me look like Jackie O. as a mischievous elfin boy.
The next store I hit has a name that I can't even discern from the flowery font used in its sign (I later find out it's called Aritzia) and upon entering, I am bombarded with pulsating house music and wonder where I put my glowsticks. I peek at the price tag of one pair of pants and, upon seeing $250, leave immediately. It takes all my might to pass up shoe stores with sale signs in them and eventually I arrive at American Eagle. Admittedly I have never bought anything from this store because it all seems a little boring, but I just needed something basic so I thought it'd do the trick. Upon walking in, though, I suddenly became aware of how teenager-y this store is. I never really realized it, but it just smells like high school. Realizing that they only have regular jeans and everything else has "AE" stamped on it in logos large and small, I drearily leave. What's a lady who is no longer a teenager but not yet a money-making matriarch to do?
As I make my way toward Sears in defeat, I come upon The Gap. I stop outside and look at it, a major decision at hand. Can I possibly buy something from The Gap and look at myself in the mirror tomorrow morning? Should I even bother to try, with my track record this afternoon? I sigh and walk in, perusing the pants, still not confident I will find anything. I take some items into the dressing room and begin the battle. Now all of the sizes are even-numbered. The 6s are too big, the 4s too small. Frustratedly, I begin to think I should make good friends with a tailor back in the city. Then, there is one pair of pants that don't fit me too badly, but they are a pinch big. I ask the dressing room clerk to please fetch me the size down, and as I try on the new size, I am surprised to see that these pants are snug but not tight. Fitted but not squeezed. They don't make me look totally stupid. I'm delighted! I look at the tag and do a double-take at the label "Skinny Jeans." Is that even possible?
So, yes, in this land of The 'Couve, where the girls are tiny and they have expensive clothes to match, where most of the stores are chains based in America and each has a duplicate just down the avenue, I bought a pair of jeans. Skinny jeans. At The Gap.
love,
*jenna*
Now, I, being of the female persuasion, happen to love shopping. But something funny happens when I go, especially when I am searching for a specific item. As you may know, I am quite comfortable with my body, and I appreciate it and try to take care of it and exercise when I can (or when I feel like it) and normally make it a habit to not let other people (or magazines or society in general) make me feel bad about the way I am. That being said, I have a lot of trouble finding things that fit me properly, as I apparently have very unusual proportions (as in, I am not six feet tall, nor do I have a concave stomach or wear a C-cup).
So, I had nothing else to do today, and no one to do it with, because all of the people I know in The 'Couve (as I've come to call Vancouver) are all on set. Plus it was pouring rain outside so, having grown up in the suburbs, I know there was only one thing to do: go to the mall! Two blocks from my hotel on Robson Street is the Pacific Centre, a rather upscale mall filled with expensive (to me, anyway) stores like BCBG, Guess, MaxMara, Mexx, Banana Republic, and Sears (okay, maybe Sears isn't that upscale). Ironically, half of the stores within the Centre have duplicate shops along Robson Street, many within 4 blocks of the Centre. I'm not sure what the point of this mall is, except to collect all of the shops into a one-stop shopping place for rainy days such as this.
I look on the directory and try to locate the stores I know I'll probably be able to afford. American Eagle it is! They must have black pants, right? So I stroll along towards AE and on my left is a place called Stitches. There seem to be a ton of cute clothes and pants in there, and it seems like a Canadian Old Navy, but a little edgier, as some of their jeans are dark-washed and have red seams. I pop in and start looking for some pants in my size. All I find in a pile of 100 pairs of jeans are size zeros. "What?" I think, "This can't be right." I search and search among dozens of stacks of jeans, thinking maybe the outside labels are wrong, but no. All inside labels say "0", "00", or "zero". By the way, who knew there was a size double zero?? I move on to the slacks, the capris, the corduroys, etc. All say size zero. "Am I in the anorexic twilight zone??" I think. I look around me. Nobody seems abnormally thin. Are Canadian sizes different? For some reason, I continue my search and finally find a size 1. Well, at least we're getting somewhere. I keep sifting and after going through 90% of the store's selection I find a few 3s, one 5, and one 7. I shouldn't have even tried them on, just out of principle, but the pants were really cute, only $25, and I have ALL DAY to kill here so why not?
I am guided into the fitting room and as the door shuts behind me, I realize there is only one hook, no stand to put my purse or own clothes on, and no mirror. Excuse me?? NO MIRROR?? "Where am I??" I mutter. I mean, one of my biggest pet peeves is stores that have no little stands, because who wants to put their stuff on the floor?, but a lack of mirror in the fitting room just goes beyond.
I attempt to put on the first pair of pants (a size 3, which I admit is ambitious, but at Old Navy I'm sometimes a 4, so I threw caution to the wind). I quickly learn that they are skinny jeans, and I am scarcely able to get them up to my waist, the leg areas squeezed in begrudgingly. Fine. I'm not shocked nor shaken to learn that skinny jeans aren't for me (they're not for anybody except Kate Moss). I try the other 3s on just for masochistic fun and it's the same story. I hopefully move on to the size 5. Surprisingly, the waist fits the same (which is to say they don't), the pants are just longer. Well, that doesn't help someone who's 5'4". I peel them off and try on the 7, and when the waist is still corset-tight, the leg hem gathering in bunches past my feet, I angrily put my own, comfortable clothes back on and leave everything sitting on the dusty floor of the fitting room.
I move on, still in search of the American Eagle (shouldn't they call it Canadian Eagle here? Or perhaps Generally North American Eagle?) and stop by Banana Republic. They're definitely more expensive than I prefer, but I do have a 20% Off coupon that I got with my New Yorker Festival tickets (which is this weekend, which I'm missing, so I should get something out of the deal, right?) so I wander in. Their clothes are nice, classic, with clean lines. I figure anything I get here I could wear for a long time. However, all of their pants are high-waisted and look a bit matronly on me, and even the dresses I try on make me look like Jackie O. as a mischievous elfin boy.
The next store I hit has a name that I can't even discern from the flowery font used in its sign (I later find out it's called Aritzia) and upon entering, I am bombarded with pulsating house music and wonder where I put my glowsticks. I peek at the price tag of one pair of pants and, upon seeing $250, leave immediately. It takes all my might to pass up shoe stores with sale signs in them and eventually I arrive at American Eagle. Admittedly I have never bought anything from this store because it all seems a little boring, but I just needed something basic so I thought it'd do the trick. Upon walking in, though, I suddenly became aware of how teenager-y this store is. I never really realized it, but it just smells like high school. Realizing that they only have regular jeans and everything else has "AE" stamped on it in logos large and small, I drearily leave. What's a lady who is no longer a teenager but not yet a money-making matriarch to do?
As I make my way toward Sears in defeat, I come upon The Gap. I stop outside and look at it, a major decision at hand. Can I possibly buy something from The Gap and look at myself in the mirror tomorrow morning? Should I even bother to try, with my track record this afternoon? I sigh and walk in, perusing the pants, still not confident I will find anything. I take some items into the dressing room and begin the battle. Now all of the sizes are even-numbered. The 6s are too big, the 4s too small. Frustratedly, I begin to think I should make good friends with a tailor back in the city. Then, there is one pair of pants that don't fit me too badly, but they are a pinch big. I ask the dressing room clerk to please fetch me the size down, and as I try on the new size, I am surprised to see that these pants are snug but not tight. Fitted but not squeezed. They don't make me look totally stupid. I'm delighted! I look at the tag and do a double-take at the label "Skinny Jeans." Is that even possible?
So, yes, in this land of The 'Couve, where the girls are tiny and they have expensive clothes to match, where most of the stores are chains based in America and each has a duplicate just down the avenue, I bought a pair of jeans. Skinny jeans. At The Gap.
love,
*jenna*
posted by jenna at 5:28 PM
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