Beating Around the Bush

A column with Cathy Stubbs

Always shop alone

There are certain rules in life which we all live by. Some people go for that Do Unto Others thing, but I have discovered another golden rule, and that is "Never go clothes shopping with your mother"

Not since the days when my mother insisted on me wearing the correct black leather lace up school shoes when the rest of the school population was wearing ever fashionable desert boots, have she and I agreed on the subject of clothes.

Now my mother is really a very good person, and I’m sure she felt this shopping expedition would bring us closer together. That’s what mothers and daughters do isn’t it? You know, shop together. Bond over the frock racks, happily exchange love and care through the changing room curtain?

But it all comes down to a question of approach. For me, clothes shopping is an unavoidable agony where I buy the first thing I can fit into which didn’t look too hideous. Not for my mother. For her it is a shop ‘til you (literally) drop experience taking in every boutique within a 30km radius of her home.

She dragged me here, she dragged me there, filled with glee. What I liked, she loathed. What I thought made me look great, brought forth a "My God no, Catherine. It’s all wrong!"

For shop after shop , she darted back and forth from the changeroom to the racks ferrying thousands of frocks for me to try on, barking instructions and giving her considered opinion of how frightful or otherwise she thought I looked.

On several occasions she dragged me, a 34-year-old mother of four, out of the changeroom in full view of other customers and began tugging at the shoulder pads or the collar in that weird way mothers do when they are not happy with the way a child’s clothes look.

After one hour, my enthusiasm for upgrading my wardrobe was beginning to flag, and I was well nigh prepared to buy the very next thing I put on, but mother was relentless.

The bonding came to an abrupt end, soon after, however, when she insisted on me trying on probably the most "UN-me" blouse ever made - complete with contrasting floral insets, large frilly peter pan collar and sort of puffed sleeves!

She thought I looked just beautiful. She was so pleased when I came out of the change room wearing the skirt and blouse, I thought she was going to cry.

I tried hard to politely explain to her that, although I loved her dearly, I simply could not appear in public looking like a large colourful frill necked lizard, however feminine it made me look.

I’ll spare you the details of what ensued when I refused to purchase that blouse, just suffice it to say that the riot squad members said they had never been called to restore order in a woman’s clothing boutiqe before!

The moral of the story? Always shop alone.

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