Confession: I hate fitting rooms.
You would think that any business owner with a scrap of intuition could work this simple math:
Any decent woman
(+) one dog-ugly room
(-) any homey touches whatsoever
(+) glaring fluorescent lights
(+) the merciless babble of the woman in the next stall on her cell phone
(does not equal) a sale.
I mean dim the lights for Pete’s sake. Turn on some gentle music and slap something pretty on the wall. Make her feel like a woman, not a concentration camp victim shut in a cube with the gas about to start, alright?
Last week I found a gem of a room, in a Camp Hill consignment shop called Hello Gorgeous.
It actually had its own light fixture. How shocking.
And low music. I’ve never danced in a fitting room before but I couldn’t help myself.
And playing cards to stick on your door telling how many items you’d taken in.
And an adorable sign in red brush script on the mirror.
I can forgive a store a lot for a dressing room like that. I can forgive overpriced sweaters, and low ugly shoes tagged to the ridiculous tune of two hundred forty-seven dollars a pair.
They say it used to be cuter yet. It used to have an ottoman and a rug. And then one day they went in to vacuum and found a collection of price tags tucked under the furniture.
[So that’s why fitting rooms are so bare…]
I don’t care about cuter yet.
That’s my kinda fitting room.
Visit my Current Reading page to view new recommendations…