Digging Deep

I check the Anthropologie website every day to see if anything new has gone on sale. Inevitably, I order something that, amazingly, I can afford, and then I send it back, realizing it's really not that great, and I can probably get five t-shirts at Old Navy for the same price. Still, I check constantly, wanting to grab the one item that goes up for $19.95 when somebody else sends it back because it's not that great. It's an endless cycle.

I have to say lately the turnover has been pretty slow. The same stuff has been on sale for several weeks and has not budged. This indicates that either a) the items are sale aren't very desirable, or b) we are in a hellish recession. I am going with 'b' because it's Anthropologie we're talking about here for crissakes. Of course these items are desirable. I would give my left nut to own one piece of clothing from that company, or at least, a top. The pants are way, way too expensive.

So, looking forward, I figure if I put $20 aside every paycheck from here on out, a little less than five years from now, I could afford to buy a whole ensemble, full price. I am certain if I were to purchase a dress, a 'cardi', a pair of whimsical shoes (like fairies wear), and some jewelry, I'll be set for life. Except for the fact that a dress isn't always practical, so maybe I should go with pants and a blouse? Better tack on a few more months saving just to make sure I can swing it.

The problem is what to do in the meantime. I am a working woman, so it's imperative that I show up for work looking 'polished' and 'clean', which also means 'not dressing like a hobo', my natural inclination. This is ironic because the starving elfin girls featured in the Anthropologie catalogue most often look exactly like hobos, but this is intentional and the clothing is expensive, so there is a decided difference here. Decided by whom I'm not sure.

I am guessing I will venture to the mall where you can actually look at, touch, and try clothing on which is not nearly as alluring as coveting something in a catalogue. There is something distinctly different about putting the clothing on your own less clothing-hanger like body as opposed to gazing longingly at the XS silk blouse in the catalogue as it consumes the tiny defenseless neck and torso of the wafer-thin model, reminiscent of a stick bug, much like you or I might devour a double bacon cheeseburger.

Perhaps it is not the clothing at all that I covet. Perhaps, it is the slender ease at which these endlessly young, Rapunzel-haired, pouty-lipped virgins slip into such lavishly expensive clothing, with no consideration for expense? Or is it their youth, their nubile beauty, which keeps drawing me back, holding my gaze so lovingly, promising me the same if I look long enough, hard enough, hypnotizing me into believing I, too, could be so young, so rich, so beautiful, so clad in precious Anthropologie clothing?

I will keep checking back. I will keep ordering items on sale and sending them back in disappointment. Is it me? Is it the clothes? Is it because I am only buying items on sale and therefore, do not afford the fantasy? I may never know for certain, but a girl can dream, can't she?