Discount Shopping Deconstructed

Some of my fondest childhood memories are climbing up the library-style ladders at Miller's Outpost (in an attempt to invade the floating western town facade that always sat on top of the columns of Anchor Blue Jeans), collecting Gotcha and Jimmy'z sticker/tags from the floor of Marshalls, and daring my poor brother to swing on the clothing rack rotundas at Ross Dress for Less while my mother would sift through piles and piles of discounted dudds. For most of my days in Fresno, this was considered to be a day of shopping; finding something 'designer' at an un-designer price was key. But in a recent conversation with my mother, who was just in town last weekend turning my room from Barbie headquarters into a 70's dental office, I came to this epiphany:

... you know there's a problem when your clothes shopping involves a shopping cart.





The lines, the frenzy, the markdowns ... I was raised to believe that if something is good and on sale, you should buy it. For my mother, finding a piece of Liz Claiborne at Marshalls is like a homeless kid finding a dime sack of weed ... there is ultimately no choice but to snatch it. The mere thought of getting something that is worth $100 for $20 is orgasmic ... even if it is ill-fitted, odd-colored, or out of style. Which is probably what drove my aunt a few years back to purchase all of my cousins and myself (male and female, ages ranging from pre-pre-teen to late twenties) sleeveless sweaters ... with the price tags "accidentally" left -on- ... but with obvious sticky residue from the discount sticker that once took up residence on top of the original price on the tag. A gift to clearly say "I want it to look like I spent $100 on you, but really I spent $5."


My point here is this ... personally speaking, I would rather spend $120 on a pair of jeans that I like, are tailored well, and that I will wear often versus 6 pairs of similar jeans, or hell, even the same jeans ... if it means that I have to spend hours hoarding through piles, fighting crowds, and waiting in line. Even as fabulous as Target may be, if when you look down into your cart, and it contains something like: cat litter, shaving cream, light bulbs, potting soil, asparagus, and a sweater ... i'd say that it's time for an intervention.