My name is Jane and I am not a shopaholic. It has been five weeks since I last went to Zara.
Even when I lived smack bang in the city centre, I used the clothes shops as a way of reaching home mostly warm and dry. I sailed through Marks & Spencer not touching a sweater – although M&S is a story that would take several blogs to chat about. I long for a researcher to come up to me and say “You seem to fit the demographic… why aren’t you even looking?” And, friends, I have a long list of answers. I’d bimble into TK Maxx – loving your homewares, TK- mainly to check my lipstick, away from the gales of our glorious summers.
I just… don’t really care about clothes. Unlike my sister, Style Stuff Sue.
Don’t get the impression that I am wandering the planet dressed in ten year old tee shirts. No. They’re much older than that. Some of them anyway. No. I am the Pippa doll to my sister’s dressing up habit. Witness the sequin jacket – I said I’d been to Zara didn’t I ? “You need that” says Style Stuff. I dutifully turn around whilst it’s measured against me – thanks “mum”. “Perfect” she says and walks purposefully towards the till.
When will I wear such an item? I leave the house, in the evening, oooh could be as much as twice a year. Well, perhaps unexpectedly, I don’t save things for best. The sequinned skirt, bought the same day was worn to breakfast the next day and recently one very dull Saturday when I needed to – as I said on Instagram – feel more super.
So I am not immune to the charms of feeling different. Or special. Or done. But given the choice of five miles – true story – around the shops to find the perfect orange bag. Or five miles along the beach to find the same tennis ball, again and again for the dog. Well, you will know me by my Gortex and dog lead necklace bling.