Musings on panties as a feminist statement, pricey denim, and shoes as an expression of self….

Why yes, I have been shopping. Why do you ask?

A few weeks ago, Mani and I took off for that indoor mecca that is Scottsdale Fashion Square - where hoity toity Neiman’s exists just a short walk down the fall from the trendy young’uns at Wet Seal and where BCBG and Betsey Johnson don’t seem to mind being neighbours with Build-A-Bear. A little bizarre yes, but whatever.

Part One: The Zone
Subtitle: This is where it all gets a little foggy

Our mission, I thought, was to find clothes for Mani like I did last year (Oh, how I love getting in touch with my inner Stacy and Clinton. I totally missed my calling as a personal shopper). Somehow though, we hadn’t been in Anthropologie (sigh. my heart is always happy there) for more than five seconds before I was in the zone.

You know the zone, right? (The one brought on my lovely clothing combined with red clearance signs and a credit card just waiting to be used. A powerful combo, to be sure)

By the time we made it to the fitting room I think the sales associates had unburdened our arms at least three times. Although neither one of us ended up buying anything, we were on fire (and I discovered that I look dang cute - in a sexy librarian-ish sorta way - in reading glasses something like these. Who knew?). Trying on this one made me realize that I will not be complete if I don’t find a fabulous red dress somewhere. [How is it that I don’t own a fabulous red dress already? Why, it just doesn’t seem right, does it?] And then, I think I want this, and this, and this. I also reluctantly left behind this dress, even though it made me look skinnier than I’ve looked since 1999, because I was determined not to spend any money.

Uh huh. Right.

To be continued…