My Mom, the Personal Shopper

It was the late 1980s in Plano, Texas.  I was in my middle school prime, and my bangs were nothing short of amazing.  I took a daily dose of Tetracyclene for my “zits,” and I graced the school halls with the sweet smell of Electric Youth.  My extensive selection of Keds made for the icing on every outfit, and given the number of Swatch watches I owned, the irony of my frequent tardies did not go unnoticed.  Fashion was my spirit animal.  Tie-dyed, zippered Guess Jeans with a waist band that stopped just under my tiny,sprouting boobs was my signature casual look, but on the days when I wanted to dominate, my principal-challenging short skirt from Contempo Casuals was the perfect choice.

Those were the cherished days of many of my sweetest memories.  Days of passing notes in over-sized writing about subjects that were both trite and socially life-altering.  Days of daydreaming about this week’s boyfriend and wondering who next week’s lucky guy may be.  And days of taunting the first one asleep at a slumber party, wondering if a hand in warm water will really make them pee.  

But most dearly missed by the 2019 mentally and physically exhausted mom-of-3 version of me are the glorious days when my Mom bought ALL of my clothes. 

If you know my mom, you cannot deny that she’s a fashionable lady.  She’s up to date on the latest trends, and her fashion sense makes her look years younger than she actually is.  I like to think of her as a professional shopper.  Not like the kind you pay though.  It’s kinda just her hobby.  I mean she’s really an enthusiast!  I say this with huge love for the woman who brought me into this world, so don’t get me wrong.  She’s a retired teacher who put my dad through med school, and has earned her title. 

I can vividly remember our trips to Prestonwood mall.  I remember watching the ice skaters from the “lower-upper level” of the food court while stuffing my face with the greasy goodness of Sbarro.  I remember the smell of the Ice Shalet; an unfortunate mix of rubber, mildew, and feet.  And I remember the giddiness I felt at the top of the escalator as we came upon Gadzooks! – literally the coolest store in the mall.   But more than anything, I remember how much my mom LOVED taking me shopping.  As for me, I could handle going shopping every once in a while as long as it didn’t interfere with my social life.  But when it did, my professional shopper Mom did what all professional shoppers would do…she brought the mall to ME! 

As is clear in her title, she was professional, and holy shit, she knew what she was doing!  She knew which styles, colors, and approximate sizes would be best suited for my figure from any given store.  If she wasn’t immediately sure, she could try something on, do some mental rearranging of how my tiny budding boobs or slightly smaller butt would affect the fit and determine if it would make the cut.  If she saw potential, and she’s an optimist who sees potential in lots of things, she brought it home.  Mind you, she only shopped in the stores whose return policy was to issue credit back to her card.  Those who only issued a store credit were on her blacklist.    

I remember coming home from school to seemingly endless bags just waiting to bet tried on.  Sometimes she bought a run of sizes to ensure the best fit.  Looking back, she was nothing short of a saint for making such a huge effort to dress me like an 80s fashion icon, but let’s be honest, I didn’t appreciate it nearly as much as I should have.  Before I could entertain trying something on, we needed to wait for my Dad to come home from the office.  To this day I am still baffled by the fact that she tries all of her clothes on for him before buying because frankly, my husband who is literally the nicest guy around could care less to see me try on new outfits.  One maybe, if he’s vying for a successful night, but a whole racks worth, no way! 

The parental fashion show was not something that a typical teenage girl could endure gracefully.  It went like this – try on Pair “A” pants.  They look pretty cute, but maybe one of the other sizes of Pair “A” pants would have an even better fit.  Try on Pair “A” pants one size up – too big.  Try on Pair “A” pants one size down, too small.   How do they feel?  Are they comfortable?  “They’re darling on you, honey.”  My Dad agrees.  “Let’s try on this mid-drift shirt with it.  Ooooh, honey, that’s hot!”  Yes, my mom used the word “hot” to describe my clothing at 13.  Next I put on my color coordinating Keds to get the full picture.  It’s a win!  Approved by both parents!  And so on and so forth.  It was grueling.  Depending on my mood that day, I ranged from slightly annoyed to completely put out that I was wasting my valuable phone time time trying on so many freaking clothes.   

Looking back, all I can say is WTF was I thinking?  I mean we’re talking FREE boutique clothes brought to my home for no special occasion.  Literally, they didn’t cost me a dime!  And I was such a bitch to my mom.  Why did she keep doing this for such an ungrateful teenager?  And to think it took me nearly 30 years to come to this epiphany! 

I’m 42 now and have 3 daughters of my own.  Three incredible little girls ages 4,7, and 10.  They do their best to keep me current with today’s lingo, and I even know how to floss!  But even cooler than that, they are MY tiny fashion experts!  I’m pretty sure that my mom’s personal shopper hobby could actually be a gene that skipped a generation and was passed down to my daughters.  Given that I don’t have the patience for the process, I will take that as a win!  The last time I shopped for myself was at 8pm on a Tuesday night while my 10 year old was at her entirely too late dance class.  I needed something to wear to the Taylor Swift concert that weekend as my oldest and me, along with a big group of her friends and moms were eagerly awaiting the long anticipated event.  I only had an hour, and since Marshall’s was next door to the studio, it seemed like the best bet.  For my fellow Marshall’s shoppers, I think we can agree on a few things.  The shoe selection is surprisingly decent.  The seasonal décor can be hard to pass up.  JoJo Bows are way cheaper there than anywhere else.  And trying to find adult clothes amid the endless racks is a marathon that only the toughest of shoppers can endure.  I am not one of those shoppers.  I don’t have the patience, so I buy with haste…and it always fails.  ALWAYS.    

You see, this is what happens when you’re a grown up and your personal shopper has moved on to younger and cuter subjects.  She has shifted from my own shopping assistant to “Grammy the personal shopper,” and her skills have not waivered.  She’s every bit as good as she was in 1989.  And you know what?  This time, I’m not going to complain one bit!  When someone is footing the bill for your kids’ clothes at Animal Crackers and Neiman’s, you simply shut up and say THANK YOU! 

So, what have I learned from this epiphany?

1. Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth.  You will feel really crappy about it later.
2. Late night discount shopping can lead to sub-par choices resulting in time consuming returns and nothing to wear to an upcoming event.
3. If your husband takes the time to sit and watch you try on clothes, he probably just wants to get laid.
4. Take in all of the mundane moments because they could teach you invaluable lessons.
5. Even if you don’t speak the same love language as someone, take a step back and reflect.  You just may be reminded of how much unconditional love was behind it all.