blog crack

After having to attend a function that required my wearing something nice as well as black, I realized that I have NO nice pants. This, of course, being an unfortunate by-product of having an office located down the hall from my bedroom in which a nice comfy, pair of pajama pants passes for "business casual". I'm not complaining -- I'm all for drawstring pants and loungewear, but every now and then, I need to go outside and look somewhat respectable. So, I realized that it was time to go shopping. A task I hate. Okay, that might be too harsh. Let's settle for "dislike very much".

And one of the hardest parts of shopping is buying pants. It is nearly IMPOSSIBLE to find a pair of pants that fit me. It's as if I've stepped into an alternative universe populated by women who are all 5' 11" and wear a size 0. During my last shopping excursion, I went to Anthropologie. Every pair of pants on their damn racks were four inches too long and they were size 0-2! Girls who are that tall should not be wearing something that small! Okay, technically, they can do whatever their anorexic hearts want, but it ain't healthy. And who do these designers model their clothing on when the vast majority of consumers buying their overpriced crap aren't supermodels? Designing your clothing for 0.5% of the population just doesn't seem to make sense. Furthermore, I just feel there's something wrong with having to pay $120 for a piece of clothing that doesn't even fit right. What's the point?

Argh! After bitching about not being able to find a proper pair of pants, three of my girlfriends recommended the Editor pant at Express. The vast majority of the female population, you know the ones who actually have decent clothing and go shopping more than once a year, probably knew about this pant, but I did not. And being an actual editor, I thought it fit that this should be the pant for me. =).

So I enlisted my shopping partner (please refer to my partner list), for a trip to the dreaded, ego-destroying, self-image crushing, money-draining mall. On a crowded Saturday afternoon in downtown SF no doubt. I'm an "in and out" kind of person when it comes to shopping. My goal: get two pair of nice pants. The Venue: Express and J.Crew.

No joke, I tried on 10 freakin' pairs of editor pants in various styles. I entered the store, saw the display tables for the pants and raided the size 2s and 4s. The result: 1 measly pair in flannel. Unfortunately, the fabric on all the other pairs of pants were so thin you could see the outline of the pockets! Eeew. Not classy. The flannel were lined and the material was thick. And, yes, even though a size 2, they were three inches too long. Maybe I just have to resign myself to a life of alterations? I hate tall people. Especially skinny tall people that can fit into sizes meant for tiny people like me. They ruin it for everyone. Damn them.

To make up for not achieving my shopping goals, I bought the cutest shirt ever. I can't find it on-line but it looks like a modern-day kimono. Very cute. I also bought a pair of what I like to call "little man pants". Those trendy new shorts that look like cut off trousers. It makes me happy that I bought something that will make me look somewhat stylish, even though I'm three months behind the trend and have probably missed the boat entirely. Sigh.

After losing it a little at the cash register (three clothing items are not supposed to cost over $200 in my cheap-o Guju book), we hit up J.Crew. On of my girlfriends, who's 4'11" was wearing a really cute pair of chinos (hemmed, of course), so I decided to hit that joint up as well. When I walked into the store, it took me a moment to gather my senses. It was as if I had literally walked into the incredibly preppy world that is the J.Crew catalog.

I went to college with these people and when I graduated I had hoped never to run into them again. Well, now I know where they've all been hiding. I've never seen so many blonde people in my life (well, maybe I have, but let's just let that statement stand as is for now). I was immediately all too aware of my own brownness and my very un-preppy appearance. I caught the eye of two punk-rock adolescents and we exchanged knowing glances, all three of us thinking the same thing: "what the hell are you doing in here?" But, then again, I had just walked into J.Crew upon my own volition...on a quest to find the elusive good pant.

I didn't find anything there btw. I tried on a really cute pair of bright pink cordswhich, as Michelle pointed out to me, were in the pajama pant section but they were so cute I had to at least try. Upon doing so, I had to reject them. They were serious pajama pants and god knows I have enough of those already. Thus, the very mission I was currently on.

This is two hours into our excursion and my shopping limit had officially been reached. I grabbed something chocolaty and we left the god-forsaken mall. Until next year then.