I went shopping with pp last weekend. As I have said before, I like nice clothes but for the most part, I hate shopping. Especially for myself. But if other people need help picking out stuff? I'm your girl.
This particular trip was one of my worst scenarios: I neededed something versatile to wear for a big client meeting (which will require my getting on a plane) with very little time to find it-- and as always--I was at a loss. Now pp is a marketing manager for a Big Time retailer and works with buyers. She's always ahead of the trends, what with planning the Holiday catalogue in April, knowing what seersucker is, and throwing around phrases like "aHm-peer waists" and "this fall is all about animal prints and movement."
The woman is knowledgeable, and she don't waste no kinda time. Back in college, I wouldn't be satisfied with a trip to the mall unless I had systematically touched every hanger in every store, a habit that elicited threats of bodily harm from pp. She goes in knowing what she wants, targets it, takes a sweeping glance at the rest of the offerings and exits. She's like an assassin. A trained killer who can quickly calculate markdowns.
While I ambled around the mall aimlessly, she asked what I'm looking for and what I'm working with. I said Professional-but-not-trying-too-hard, and Grey-striped-with-some-weird-color pants or Brown ladyshoes. Three hours later*, I got in my car with a lovely black pinstripe pencil skirt ("It's classic, you'll be able to wear it for years"? Music to my ears.) and a crisp white short-sleeved blouse that is enough of a wraparound to be interesting and enough of a buttonup not to be peek-a-boo. (Don't worry, I'm wearing a tank top anyway.) She said I could wear the red mules I already have and even suggested a game plan for the jewelry.
Not only was this accomplished in record time, but everything fits well and I did not break the bank. And somehow during our mission, pp managed to try on fifty pairs of jeans and purchase a cute pair of tailored capris, to boot. As we walked to the parking lot, I decided I'm going to have to make some serious Scrooge McDuck cash so she can quit the biz and pick out my clothes for a living instead. A good friend who can spot your favorites, hide your flaws and be fun to hang out with all the time? That's what I call a personal shopper.
*Of course, the day we were shopping was incrediby warm, so I purchase warm-weather clothes. And now the forecast says it's going to be about 20 degrees cooler in Detroit, so I'm going to have to improvise. Wish me luck!