What They Know

The topic of leather pants is owed a redress of grievances, so to speak. But this is not the time.

Yes, I've had them altered. Indeed, I have endeavored to choose them as part of my daily outfit on several occasions. But due to a variety of factors including, but not limited to: the weather, the temperature, and the way I feel in the mornings...I haven't worn them again.

But I will, and that story is coming.

Today, right now, I'm considering What They Know. They are, at the moment, my adversaries.

Macy's, Express, Victoria's Secret, Banana Republic...they have been inviting me over to their places for years now, and I used to accept their invites with innocent glee.

I figure they know my marketing profile--25-30 yr old female, x disposable income, recently tends to purchase in shades of purple, has a strange addiction to coats for a Houstonian, and quite a considerable appetite for shoes.

They have always sent me emails with coupons and offers, and I figure they do so based on all the information I provide by buying online, in stores, and with plastic.

Currently I pretty much ignore those emails.

Give me a break--it's time for the spring clothes, and I just itch with Purchase Anxiety when I see those light fabrics and happy models frolicking in the ocean. It's taken me about 3 weeks to actually go shopping again, and even then I didn't even dare try anything on.

But this shopping excursion made me consider, really consider, What They Know.

How much data have they really gathered about Shannon Kelly? They can't be aware of my current situation.

And that's what made me realize--if I'm not buying, I can expand my horizons. I can go into super expensive stores I ordinarily avoid. They don't know!

So I went to the frou-frou side of the The Woodlands Mall. (Yes, I know that this is not the Galleria, and that I'm not ever talking big names like Armani or whatever. The Shannon Sliding Scale of what's expensive and what's not is simply that--my own definition, and I'm operating off of that.)

Anyway, I went to the side of the mall called Market Street, where the yuppiest of the yuppies like to throw their plastic around. And I went into Tommy Bahama.

Not really my style, not really my preference. It was full of kinda snobby white suburbanites. But I got to become one. Because I had no intention of buying, and they didn't know.

I didn't even look for a sale. They probably didn't have one. But I just wandered in and out of the gorgeous fabrics and kind of silly beach clothes and...enjoyed it. I have no idea how much they cost. Well, okay, I did look at the price tag of a kids' shirt just for shits and giggles ($$$!)

But otherwise, it was the first time I ever did that--shopped without regard for price. I waltzed through the store with the regal air of a bored trophy wife, and wow. It was awesome. I felt priveleged, elegant, kind of regal.

The attendants never looked down their noses, but rather glanced expectantly at me as if I might grace them with a purchase. Oh, the joy of it!

They paid me all the respect in the world...and I didn't pay them a dime.

So that's good to know. There can be indulgence without purchase.

This experiment might not be so painful after all.