Reflections outside your fitting room, by Natasha Fowler
I may be one of the few souls who feel a pang of nostalgia at the cacophonous, jamming sounds of cash registers in department stores. It reminds me of the afternoons spent lingering outside fitting rooms while my mother would ‘um’ and ‘ah’ over yet another black dress. It seemed glamourous as a child; sales assistants swanning back and forth from shop racks to fitting rooms and those whose time and money could afford to be spent.
Nowadays, those monstrous machines have been upgraded and I am that shop girl, AKA the ‘would-you-like-some-assistance?’ prying eye into your closet away from home. I work on the designer floor of an iconic city department store. Am I judgmental? Well… you can always judge a person on how they hang their clothes and yes, sometimes the store’s parquet floor wears Dolce and Gabbana more beautifully than the person from whom it’s been flung.
“… I am that shop girl, AKA the ‘would-you-like-some-assistance?’ prying eye..”
The business of trying on clothes can be a time-consuming, eye-opening experience. Is it the fact that we’re still teetering across a financial crisis or have department store fitting rooms never been as exclusive as they appear? So while the finance reports are still labelling spending as ‘hesitant’, in my experience that doesn’t reflect what’s happening on the shop floor. What I have noticed is the unique divide between habits of trying on clothes, what makes us ‘tick’ in the fitting room and what finally tips us to “lay down the plastic”.
We all have different personalities in the fitting room but it’s the crucial moments of decision-making which usually bear insight into the shopper within. Our inner Coco or Miuccia is oh-so elegantly liberated against the stark-white walls and equally as unflattering lighting. The self-assessment begins.
“…Our inner Coco or Miuccia is oh-so elegantly liberated against the stark-white walls and unflattering lighting..”
It is a truth universally acknowledged that some women are impossible decision-makers. The Fence-Sitters, often due to genuine naivety or lack of research, simply don’t know what they want and in the face of endless racks of designers, become rabbits in headlights. The fitting room process becomes a see-sawing game of ‘um’ and ‘ah’, ‘I-don’t-know-what-do-you-think’. Those who may require a second or third opinion often look to friends for justification instead of trusting their own instincts. Most of the time that friend is just aching for a latte. While I try to resist smacking my palm to my forehead when the glaze-eyed boyfriend gets the head tilt of approval, it begs the question; why can’t we trust our own instincts when it comes to dressing? Put a woman in a dressing room with a decent set of options and within minutes she becomes unaccustomed to her own wants, needs and most notably, tastes.
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In some boutiques, the lack of mirrors in fitting rooms has become a devious selling technique where the customer is now obliged to come out into the store to see themselves. Think about it; you’re standing in the middle of the shop floor in a sheer cocktail dress, an easy target for the patronising coo of sales assistants and so busy worrying about whether you’ve shaved your legs you’ve forgotten what you wanted in the first place.
We all play the game of underestimation. It begins with an age-old scenario: the dress you’ve been eyeing off for weeks is now on sale but, by Murphy ’s Law, the only size left is two too small. Naturally, the most logical option is to buy the damn thing. Who says you can’t look like Miranda Kerr by the weekend?! I constantly see women nit-pick over their reflection, sucking in their cereal so the zip can go up another tooth or two. And, I do bump into those clients who, a month later, have smugly lost those 5 kilos they said they would when they poked every bit of skin into a tube of Victoria Beckham. But more often than not, that new tube will sit at the back of their wardrobe beside Nanna’s moth-eaten tartan.
“…I constantly see women nit-pick over their reflection, sucking in their cereal so the zip can go up another tooth or two..”
Then, there are those women who walk into my department knowing exactly what they want. They have an eager eye, lightness of foot and a certain narrow-mindedness that eliminates middlemen – ie: shop girls – from the selling process. They are the Lone Rangers. Self-sufficient and quietly spoken. A rap on the change-room door is usually out of politeness rather than requirement. They exude a confidence, ever so cool, an assurance of purchase. If an outfit works, they buy it. If it doesn’t, they ditch it. It is an instinct many women struggle to trust and are therefore poorer for it.
I admire the Lone Ranger, not because I don’t have to put on my poker face when asked if I like their purchase of chartreuse polyester, but because they know what they want and will wear it regardless of anyone’s opinion and judgement. As ancient Greek philosopher Epictetus said; “Know first, who you are; and then adorn yourself accordingly”. Without getting too philosophical, this should be the fundamental principle of dressing: self-expression. But until we know who we are, I see no harm in a quiet ‘um’ and ‘ah’ behind the fitting room door.
