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I never shopped. Not really. Not for fun. As a child, my mother would take my sister and me for two proper shopping trips a year: one to get a new outfit for our summer holiday and one to get ready for a new year at school.
And I was happy with that.
Later, as growing up turned into growing into a teenager, trips to the nearest city became a prerequisite for getting out of the house, and spending money that I’d just earned became the prerequisite for rebelling against my frugal up-bringing. But I never really enjoyed shopping. Being shorter than your average girl and slightly chubbier than “fashion” tends to like I was always in-between sizes and nothing ever fit. I would spend hours trailing round after my friends, feet aching and brain longing to retire to a bookshop where I would, to quote one school friend, become “swallowed” by the books while they chatted about their new clothes. I was a bit of a tomboy and prided myself on not being like those silly girls who trailed round in pink clutching “Mizz” magazines and talking about boys (this seemed to be firmly entrenched in my mind as the kind of people who shopped).
All this changed when I reached university. I had a bigger city to play with. I had more money (okay, so it was borrowed, but I felt less bad about spending it as I was in so much debt already). But most importantly, I found a friend to shop with, and I finally began to enjoy it, realising that the stereotype I had avoided for so long didn’t actually exist.
The first time I went properly shopping in York I was astonished when I discovered things actually started to look good on me. I was no longer the chubby fourteen-year-old who had renounced any clothes apart from a t-shirt and a pair of combat trousers (even for a family get-together on Boxing Day, I kid you not). I could develop my own style and it was fun!
Of course, we still wandered round bookshops and drank hot chocolate to get away from the crowds and did all the things that I had done before but I began to not feel bad about spending my money. As long as I never spent more than a designated amount on one day, I don’t see anything wrong with it. I always spent less than my friend, but that was fine – it didn’t make me feel poor or inferior, because I knew that she’d worked hard to earn her money, while I hadn’t had a job since starting uni.
I found out several things about myself as I developed my love for clothes. That it’s okay to want to look good. That while you don’t have to spend a lot of money to do this – charity shops can still be, I maintain, cool, sometimes it’s okay to spend a bit more money, to get something that’s just a bit higher quality. And that doing something with a real enthusiast means that enthusiasm is going to rub off on you.
I’m not going to lie, sometimes I have “what am I doing here?” moments as I wait in the queue for a fitting room or squeeze past sale racks and try not to knock anything off. But I make shopping a challenge – I pride myself on finding real bargains, as well as challenging myself to find clothes than really fit: whatever the cost. And since coming to uni I’ve enjoyed challenges more and more.
So you don’t have to hate shopping. You don’t have to love it. Boy or girl, you can be somewhere in between. There really is no right answer.
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