I am not a shopaholic. Well, not a really
bad one. I mean, okay, so my author sister did write a whole series of books
loosely (LOOSELY) based on my ability to find shopping opportunities wherever I
happened to be (yes, people, I was a financial journalist who dreaded her
credit card bills every month). But I’m not really that bad. I mean, I have
never remortgaged the house to pay off my shoe debt, or abandoned one of my
children so that I could buy some designer jeans. But I do, if I’m being
completely honest, have ‘wish lists’ on a dozen shopping sites, which do, from
time to time, move directly to my online shopping basket before I can say
‘mastercard’. Talking of which, I am the only person I know who knows the
number (and expiry date) of their credit card off by heart. And I did buy
several bodycon dresses whilst pregnant with my third (without trying them on,
naturally), because they seemed like a great deal and I was convinced (blame
the hormones) that they’d look JUST GREAT once the baby was born (I had
evidently blocked out all memory of bra pads, baby sick and, you know, the fact
that I would just have had a baby so it would be frickin YEARS before I even
considered anything approaching bodycon again…)
The point is, whilst I loathe shopping
centres and am like a man (ie grumpy and impatient) when traipsing round shops
looking for something that I need, I
love nothing more than to swoop like a bird on something that I want. And I also have a commendable
ability to justify such purchases afterwards; even to congratulate myself on
doing so well, as though no money had parted hands whatsoever.
Which brings me to these:
Which I have just bought.
Now, they’re nice. Well I think they’re
very nice. Low heel, so very practical. Hanging out with the children
comfortable. Perfect for work. Even better for tripping around Florence, say. Which is TOTALLY going to happen. With three children. Frankly I don’t know how I’ve survived without
them.
Except they’re also pale patent leather so
not really very practical at all.
But come on, they’re very cute. And the
strap is just sexy enough to give an otherwise drab outfit an edge. Plus
they’re called ‘Gemma’, so how could I not?
I’ll tell you how. By not buying them, By
recognizing that I have a cupboard full of shoes, and that mostly I wear trainers
not beautiful Miu Miu shoes that look like they should travel in a cab at all
times.
But then I tell myself I deserve them. I
work hard, I devote myself to my children. I deserve a pretty pair of shoes,
right? Of course I do. (And they were in the sale. Half price! Total steal!)
Just like I deserved this:
And these:
And this jacket (currently in my wish list; let’s
see how long I’ll hold out)
See the psychology of shopping is hard to
unpick. Am I emancipated (spending my own money, making my own choices, 'because I'm worth it'), or
subjugated (spending my hard-earned money chasing lifestyle dreams sold to me by glossy magazines which are funded by advertising from these shoe’s very designers?
Have I, a supposedly intelligent woman,
bought into the ridiculous notion that pretty shoes will make the winter nights
seem less cold and dark?
Except is it so ridiculous? I mean, nice
shoes DO make life better. And not just when they’re mine. I love seeing people
on the street who’ve made an effort, who are wearing something beautiful. The
world can be drab and grey; sometimes we need pretty things to pick us up.
Particularly when those pretty things are a result of craftsmanship, of
stunning design, of care and attention.
And if they’re wish fulfillment, then
what’s the harm in that? I sometimes take out my ‘occasion’ shoes and try them
on, prancing about the bedroom like I used to when I was six, trying on our au
pair’s dresses and heels, imagining that I was all grown up and had somewhere
exciting to go.
Because it’s all about anticipation isn’t
it? The getting ready for the party; the build up to Christmas; the preparation
for a first date. That’s always been where the magic is.
So am I going to wear these shoes? I hope
so. I mean, I’m sure I will. Loads. But if I don’t, at least I’ll have enjoyed
imagining myself wearing them. At least I’ll enjoy glancing at them every time
I rummage for another pair of trainers.
And anyway, I WILL wear them; I’ll just
have to find the right thing to wear them with. Like that jacket, for instance…
