I love walking into a store where people know me. Once my brother called a favorite store to buy me a gift card for my birthday, and the store owner finished the transaction by saying "Great, we'll call Kristi and let her know it's here." "Do you need her number?" he asked. "Oh, no, we have it." she said.
Shopping is my social scene. Especially when shoes are involved. Or jackets. Or jewelry. Or sweaters. Or...
It's become such a regular part of my world that I've justified my unnecessary purchases by feeding my husband such lines as "I had to buy it. I'd feel horrible if they went out of business." When that doesn't work, I remind him about how easy Christmas shopping is for him. He walks in and they walk him to something in my size and style.
Lately, I've been saving the planet by shopping on TheRealReal and buying used designer clothing. After all, rich people hardly wear their clothes, and it'd be a tragedy for a pair of Prada high tops and a Comme des Garcons jacket to go to the dump when they could sit in my closet nearly untouched for another year or two.
This year, right before Christmas, I read an essay that haunted me for days. I had just hauled two bags of clothes to Goodwill that morning and had another suitcase full of shoes for my niece in Italy. I was making room for new stuff once the Christmas presents were opened.
Ann Patchett had written an essay about her year of not shopping. A full year of not buying clothes, shoes, purses, or jewelry. She allowed herself the ability to buy books at will and to buy a wedding gift that she knew about, but otherwise, she was taking a break from consumerism.
I dismissed the idea immediately as something for someone else and went online to buy a pair of used Tod's for my husband's Christmas present. Another pair of great shoes saved!
A few days later, I was asked about my New Year's Resolution. "Ugh, I hate resolutions and all the failure they bring with them." I answered. "I resolve to not have a resolution."
But it seemed like on every social media feed and email I received for the next few days, headlines screamed at me about decluttering, simplifying, using what I have, and searching for the Danish hygge. On the night before Christmas, I went back and read Ann Patchett's essay again.
I love Ann's books. She has a beautiful way of writing. As I read each word of her essay, I could hear "Darn you, Ann Patchett" repeat in my head.
That night, I informed my husband that I was taking 2018 off from shopping. I have never seen him light up the way he did that night. I think it was his favorite gift.
As for me, I'm 3 1/2 months in and I've had to find other ways of spending my time and being social. I'm painting more and taking classes that push me to try new techniques. I'm learning French which I'm told I speak with an Italian accent. And, just last week, I went into one of my favorite little stores. They still knew my name and welcomed me in like an old friend. Business was going well, they assured me.
I told the owner about my resolution. She listened attentively and sighed. "Well, at least we've helped you get a closet together that you can wear for years," she said. "A year will be over before we know it."
"I know," I tried not to look around the store. I went because I felt a need to justify my absence.
"But I also can't help but think - Darn you Ann Patchett. Why'd you have to be such a good writer?"
"Exactly!" I said. "She has really gotten me into something."