Confessions of a shopaphobic

I wear clothes. I like to look nice. But when it comes down to it, I'd rather take a midterm than shop for the darned things. Walking into a clothes store can make me more ornery than three consecutive nights with no sleep. Due to this irrational reaction, I still have clothes from my high school days simply because I can't bear to shop to replace them. On my days off, you may have difficulty telling the difference between me and a homeless person. I don't take credit for the crazy hair in this picture though, humidity really is out of my control.

My older sister gave me my first experience with 'What Not to Wear'. You know, that show where they take people who couldn't dress themselves if their lives depended on it and turn them into stylish gurus. "Chelsea!" she said, "I watched this episode and thought of you." Ouch - or it would have been, if I even knew that the show existed. As if a girl who hates to shop would watch a show about shopping. So I sat with her and watched it. The poor girl was bullied into giving up ALL her clothes, even the ones she loved. Then she walked into a store and reenacted my entire life story. "Ugh, look at that. That is so ugly. This is pointless. I'm going home." I was right there with her. Or I was, until my sister looked at me and said, "you know, that was the part that reminded me of you. You act exactly the same way." And she was right. Her "casual" comments throughout the show got through to me - this was a threat. If I didn't want Stacy and Clinton to toss my pathetic wardrobe, not to mention be humiliated on national television, I had better get some better clothes.

So I went shopping. Found a few outfits, started caring more. I based everything of the thought, "if Stacy and Clinton saw my clothes, would they be mocking me?" I got compliments on my style, and for a while all was well with the world.

Then I started to slack off. After all, the new clothes high can only last for so long and my hoodie was much more comfortable. My main motivation became, "would Stacy and Clinton mock me that much?" Bag Lady Chelsea hadn't returned, but Informal Chelsea was making an appearance.

Then I applied for an internship in New York and, by some miracle, got it. Welcome to round two of shopping for hours, getting "internship appropriate clothes", so said my mother. I now wear a skirt six out of the seven days of the week (work and church). I look respectable and even have some great outfits. Still, my style is somewhat lacking.

"But you live in New York!" basically every girl on the planet cries. "Go find something!" But see, here's the problem. While I know HOW to dress, I just don't want to go shopping for it. In fact, I am probably the only female on the planet who was not excited about all the shopping options of the big city. Welcome to my life's dilemma. I did go once, and found this lovely gem. Valued at $5860.00, you could own this coat for the generous price of $2109.97. Why didn't I buy it? Let me count the ways . . . .

No worries, I did find a dress with a much more suitable price. But that's not the point. To me, most clothes look like that coat up there. Gaudy, overpriced, and completely unnecessary. Find me a subtle-looking shirt and I'm happy. Lucky for me I have an older sister and mother who know me well and can coerce (or threaten) me into submission. Really, I love you both.

My shopaphobia isn't going to end anytime soon. Neither is the need to look good. I just have to grit my teeth and bear it - unless anyone knows of a Shopaphobics Anonymous I could go to?

Hitting the wine

When the conversation lags, I like to ask a somewhat controversial question: what would you do if you weren't Mormon? I'm not really looking for an honest answer, just an interesting conversation. Until recently, I would answer with, "I would drink wine with dinner. And maybe champagne at parties." See, wine was an unknown existence. It's always gorgeously colored, and people talk about its hint of fruit or heady aroma. And really, who wouldn't want to drink out of a wine glass? They look so elegant!

Notice the past tense in the last paragraph.

I was in my apartment reaching for a pan in the back of my cupboard. That thing could rival Mary Poppin's bag with all the miscellaneous junk I've found in there. I stood in front of it, searching by feel for something I had put away only yesterday. Where was the stupid thing? Finally, my hand grasped a handle. Success! I pulled it out, unintentionally bringing random Tupperware lids and the last tenant's wine bottle along with it. Next thing I knew I was standing in the middle of shards of glass and a dark red, sticky puddle that was quickly growing.

Have you ever smelled wine? I'm quite curious about the first person who saw rotting grapes and thought, hey, I should drink that mess. And the headache after is totally worth it!

Wine has the absolute most revolting smell. It's something like cleaning detergent mixed with the first whiff when you open the bottom refrigerator drawer and discover the fruit you forgot about for six months. I had to open all my windows and throw away each bundle of wine-soaked paper towels as I used it up. By the time my oven and fridge had been pulled out and cleaned under, I had already decided. It doesn't matter that I already don't drink alcohol. If I weren't Mormon, I would have made my resolution on the spot. I will never, ever drink wine. No amount of research can convince me that something I can't even bear to smell would taste any better in my mouth. Looks like I'll need a different non-Mormon fantasy.