My sister is a fashionista.
I am a rebel.
I hate to shop. I do not want to be a puppet of the clothing industry.
I could declare myself antisocial. Which reminds me of my mother.
I am a rebel.
I do not want to lock my doors, close the curtains, and eat a bowl of cereal for supper at 6 p.m.
Plus, I’ve been invited to go somewhere. Somewhere nice, with nice people. The Romance Readers Luncheon at the Harbert Center in downtown Birmingham Nov. 5. I can’t miss keynote speaker Victoria Dahl, or welcome speaker Jennifer Echols, Southern Magic’s very own Young Adult author. Or the other two dozen or so role-model authors who will be there.
The thing is, the classic outfit I bought ten years ago with the aid of a personal shopper--the knit sweater set and skirt I could wear anywhere, forever, is clearly dated. In order to participate in life, instead of just writing about it, this fangirl has to go shopping.
It’s not quite true that I never shop. I flip through the catalogs that overflow my mailbox. My chest of drawers boasts a complete wardrobe of swimsuits. I browse the pro shop at every country club where I play tennis. My closet is lined with tennis skirts and tops, some of them inappropriately ruffled for my age. And when I’m looking for a bargain on some staple item like laundry detergent, I swing through the athletic wear department at Wal-Mart. I own an astounding variety of white tank tops and black yoga pants.
However, when it comes to non-athletic events, dread overshadows anticipation. I not only have to give up writing time, I have to shop for something suitable to wear. The longer I stay away from the stores, the more deep-rooted my phobia becomes.
In my dream world, the one in which I’m a successful author with a staff a retinue an entourage, one of my adoring and beloved minions delivers the perfect ensemble, fresh and ready to wear, whenever I need to greet the public.
MINION! Where are you? I need to write, but I’m stressed about what to wear!