I am coming to the stark, but undeniable, realization that I am "style challenged." It may be the result of years of trained incapacity, no longer shopping for myself, allowing others to do it. But as I look over my scene wardrobe I am struck by one simple fact. Everything is black. Not just black, the same shade, hue, and tone of black. It is that kind of black that feels comfortable to me, but reduces a sense of style to accessorizing with boots and a belt. One of my belts has small silver rings in it. It feels a little crazy to me. I have to have the right mindset to even pull it out of the closet, much less wear it.
So, I decided to change all this. I went shopping, not really knowing what to buy, I figured I'd just put that energy out there and the Universe would send back the right thing. The problem is when you are deeply weird, there is nothing worse than a perceptive Universe. Or so I thought. It seems I bumped into the fact that the Universe also has a cruel and wicked sense of humor.
I stumbled into what was a deceptively normal looking retail establishment called Abercrombie & Fitch. As few steps in, I was greeted by life sized wall posters of boys wearing clothes that immediately gripped me in the throes of terror. They were smiling knowingly, as if they had some sense of the fear they evoked. Like minions from some Aryan school for boys, holding lacrosse sticks, wearing sweaters around their necks, smiling with a horrifyingly handsome faces and white teeth that looked as if they had been bleached.
My head was swimming. I ignored the warning signs. Soon it was too late. No sense of direction. I walked deeper into this lair of torment.
Eventually I was confronted by an impossibly perky fembotsalesthing who poked me with her finger and uttered the phrase "Hey You! What's new in your world?"
Time started to slow down. The blaring music, which sounded to me like bad 1980s pop that wasn't 80s enough for them so they remade it with more added 80s goodness, turned to a garbled mess of sound. There may have been voices in it, there was definitely laughter, cold demonic laughter.
The fembotsalesthing started to step away. I was gripped by THE FEAR. With no sense of direction, all I could do was blindly stumble, hoping that there was an exit, that I wasn't in too deep. It was day. All I need to do was find the light. I searched for the warmth and let my eyes guide me.
Stumbling now, arms outstretched. Between me and my freedom was a rack of sweaters. To the right I spied another salesthing. Move left. You won't survive the perkiness. Get it together. Run if you have to, if you can muster it.
After what seemed like an eternity, I was free. Don't look back, I thought. It is too horrifying, too ugly.
Back in the fresh air, I started a slow crawl down to The Gap. I needed the normalcy of a basic sales campaign. Poorly made clothes available at a reasonable price. Within a half hour, I was trying on cargo pants. Gray this time. They looked wrong and I couldn't bring myself to buy.
My recovery proceeded apace. Juice helped.
I finally wound up at Armani Exchange. I found a nice shirt there. $55. It fit, it looked good. And, of course, it was the right shade, hue, and tone of black.
It has been a week and I am still not sleeping well. I close my eyes and remember. I think they call these "night terrors." Those places need to come with warning signs.
