When her closet is full of nada, she’s sick to death of the stores, and her head is too jumbled to know what she’d wear even if she could afford couture…what’s a girl to do? Suck it up and head to a pro. I’ve always kind of pooh-poohed Hollywood starlets with stylists, because I can’t imagine giving up the pleasure of shopping for myself. Hel-LO, don’t you want to Express Yourself, not have someone express yourself for you? But when you don’t know how you want to do all that expressing, I have to admit that getting an expert’s input can be a good idea. When I decided to book time with the "contemporary collections" stylist at Nordstrom at the Grove, I was a little worried that it would be a skeezy experience, but it ended up being, as Borat says, a Great Success! It was free, she was awesome, and I ended up with stuff I love.
The best part of personal shopping, fer shur, was arriving to find a swishy little showroom all decked out with stuff for me. My friend who recommended Elaine (the stylist) had e-mailed her with what I was looking for, my body type and price range, so she already had a whole selection of dresses, tops and trousers ready in my size. I sat on a plush chair while she gracefully pushed clothes around on the rack-lined walls and explained what could go with what, what hadn’t gone out on the floor yet, what would look nice on me…I don’t know what else she said, because I was staring in the huge mirror and petting the velvet arms of the chair. But she definitely respected what I’d told her—I was looking for more interesting things to wear for casual/day, and I wasn’t interesting in bankrupting myself—and I immediately loved some of the things she’d picked out. Trying on clothes in a big private room, with enough hooks to hang everything on (are you listening, H&M?), and then coming out to ask the opinion of someone who actually has good taste and isn’t just trying to sell as many pairs of Gap jeans as possible is actually pleasant. Maybe even FUN. It’s definitely about five bajillion times more pleasant than the normal awful sweaty cramped trying-on experience, which I absolutely hate and which usually leaves me cranky and hungry. Elaine was honest about what worked or didn’t work, which was nice because I never trust my own eyes and need lots of reassurance so I don’t end up with a nasty case of buyer’s remorse. It was so nice. Oh yeah, and the mirror wasn’t a fat mirror, either. Thank you, Nordstrom. (It’s funny, because I remember the mirrors at the Nordstrom Brass Plum section when I was in high school being the WORST fat mirrors on the planet. I always ended up walking out without buying anything because it was such a horrifying experience.)
[this is not a nordstrom fitting room. but it is a really good idea. thanks charleston.]
I ended up with such a score—the best of which was a jacket that was exactly, exactly the thing I’ve been hunting for months and had given up on ever finding. It’s a blazer with a deep V and a super-nipped-in waist, which is perfect because I’m tall and always think jackets end up really boxy on me. Elaine had it out for me at the start, and I never would’ve found it myself. I was worried she’d try to force things on me, or not get my taste, or.... But no, it was just YAYYY PERSONAL SHOPPING! I would totally, totally recommend it (where else can you do this, other than Nord’s? Most department stores?), and there’s no risk because it’s freeeeeee. Unless you, uh, have great success and buy things. But that was the goal, right?
XOXO, MATERIAL GIRL (gaaahhhh when does Gossip Girl start again? I thought it was supposed to on, like, the 5th! Jeez.)
[Full disclosure: I’m sitting on my sofa (okay, FULL disclosure: futon) watching “Real Housewives: New York City.” AMAZING. They’re so tacky and ridiculous. Perfect timing—the one lady and her husband who look alike and spend every second together are now shopping together because “we’re each other’s stylists.” She’s trying on some horrendously ugly, tight, $2,250 dress with a hypnotic swirly pattern that somehow pulls your eyes right to the crotchal area, and her husband thinks it looks amaaaazing. Goes to show you pricey doesn’t mean pretty. It looks like it costs about 1/100th of its real price. Barf me ouuuut.]
The best part of personal shopping, fer shur, was arriving to find a swishy little showroom all decked out with stuff for me. My friend who recommended Elaine (the stylist) had e-mailed her with what I was looking for, my body type and price range, so she already had a whole selection of dresses, tops and trousers ready in my size. I sat on a plush chair while she gracefully pushed clothes around on the rack-lined walls and explained what could go with what, what hadn’t gone out on the floor yet, what would look nice on me…I don’t know what else she said, because I was staring in the huge mirror and petting the velvet arms of the chair. But she definitely respected what I’d told her—I was looking for more interesting things to wear for casual/day, and I wasn’t interesting in bankrupting myself—and I immediately loved some of the things she’d picked out. Trying on clothes in a big private room, with enough hooks to hang everything on (are you listening, H&M?), and then coming out to ask the opinion of someone who actually has good taste and isn’t just trying to sell as many pairs of Gap jeans as possible is actually pleasant. Maybe even FUN. It’s definitely about five bajillion times more pleasant than the normal awful sweaty cramped trying-on experience, which I absolutely hate and which usually leaves me cranky and hungry. Elaine was honest about what worked or didn’t work, which was nice because I never trust my own eyes and need lots of reassurance so I don’t end up with a nasty case of buyer’s remorse. It was so nice. Oh yeah, and the mirror wasn’t a fat mirror, either. Thank you, Nordstrom. (It’s funny, because I remember the mirrors at the Nordstrom Brass Plum section when I was in high school being the WORST fat mirrors on the planet. I always ended up walking out without buying anything because it was such a horrifying experience.)
XOXO, MATERIAL GIRL (gaaahhhh when does Gossip Girl start again? I thought it was supposed to on, like, the 5th! Jeez.)
[Full disclosure: I’m sitting on my sofa (okay, FULL disclosure: futon) watching “Real Housewives: New York City.” AMAZING. They’re so tacky and ridiculous. Perfect timing—the one lady and her husband who look alike and spend every second together are now shopping together because “we’re each other’s stylists.” She’s trying on some horrendously ugly, tight, $2,250 dress with a hypnotic swirly pattern that somehow pulls your eyes right to the crotchal area, and her husband thinks it looks amaaaazing. Goes to show you pricey doesn’t mean pretty. It looks like it costs about 1/100th of its real price. Barf me ouuuut.]
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