Fitting Room Etiquette

I hate shopping for clothes. Unless you have the body of a Barbie doll, nothing ever seems to fit the way that you imagine it will. I am reminded of the Cathy cartoons, when Cathy goes through her seasonal ritual of trying on swimsuits. It's always an experience fraught with misery.

Of course the agony is compounded when you are forced to interract with others.

I was once in a typical fitting room. You know the kind that I mean: The doors look as if they're the entry to an old Western saloon. You expect to see Sheriff Marshall Dillon come striding in at any moment.

Now, that kind of fitting room always makes me nervous. There's barely enough coverage (if you aren't too tall) to conceal your private parts, but there's always a large expanse of knees and thighs and you can be seen from your shoulders on up. It's uncomfortably easy to make eye contact with others while you're naked as a mole-rat and the only thing standing between you is a set of saloon doors.

As if that wasn't enough to induce hysteria, the stalls on either side stopped at roughly 18 inches from the ground, so there was never any sense of true privacy. If you put your purse down at the floor level, someone could reach over and grab it while you were stark naked and take off with it. I suspect that most women would let a thief take their purse if it meant streaking madly after the thief.

I was wearing nothing but a bra and a set of T-back panties. I had one foot near my purse so that I knew where it was at all times while I struggled into an outfit. At this point, I could have auditioned for the Cirque du Soleil. I had just got the outfit adjusted, when I looked down to see a snotty-nosed boy of about 5 years of age peering up at me from the stall next door.

I gaped at the boy, as he stared solemnly up at me, picking his nose. I made a shooing motion, but he continued to stare. "Go away!" I hissed. He vanished.

I turned around to the mirror to see how I looked, when the kid appeared again, this time from under the saloon doors. "Will SOMEbody get this kid?!" I hollered. "We've got a Peeping Tom here!" I heard his mother call to him, and he disappeared. She called out an apology that I responded to with a grunt, as I was busy being a contortionist once more. What kind of a mother lets her kid run about like that? And... what is he doing now? Peeping in his neighbor's windows at night?

Other fitting room nastiness abounds: Women who try on underwear and swimsuits WITHOUT wearing their own underwear beneath. I've seen sales associates throwing away these items when they've become smeared with bodily fluids. Because I've seen that, I will NEVER buy such a garment and wear it without having washed it first! I always get a chuckle out of the pieces that have a little insert that reads "For Your Protection". The belief is that when you buy the item, you can peel off the little insert and it's ready to wear. Has no one heard of pubic lice?! The whole thing makes me shudder.

And what about the stalls that are missing locks? If you don't have a buddy system, you are left trying to hold the door closed with one hand while you wiggle about helplessly. And if let go even for a moment, you KNOW that someone will burst in on you. And what about that? If someone bursts in on you, will they apologize? Or will they merely go on their way, leaving you spluttering in indignation?

It has grown to a point that I would rather buy a piece of clothing and try it on in the comfort and privacy of my own home. If I must return it later, then so be it. It's still better than going through the agony of the Fitting Room Experience.

P.S. One of my articles is featured on the cover of Helium today (near the bottom of the page). This is a true honor, indeed.