Fitting Room Failure

I usually shop by myself. I don't know if I prefer it that way or it just happens that way. Regardless, I'm not used to soliciting the opinions of others when it comes to what I wear. I usually trust myself not to look ridiculous.

This past weekend I went up to Park City with Lisa and Kelly for a "girls weekend." I like to call it a "get away" though because just about all my weekends are "girls weekends."

First stop: the Tanger outlets at Kimball Junction. We tried on a lot of clothes. My sister-in-law Kelly and her sister Katie have a number system when it comes to rating each other's appearance in clothes. It's basic, really: you rate each other on a 1-10 scale. There are no specific criteria or elements that skew the final number such as price or extreme lack of that particular color in your wardrobe. It's all about how you look.

I'm afraid I didn't score very high on my selections. Lisa and Kelly came out in their prospective purchases and it was all "Ooh! I really like that!" and "That's a great color on you" and then they smiled and retreated back behind their fitting room door satisfied with their options. But when I came out with something on it was, "Eh, it's OK." or "Hmm...I'm not crazy about that." Kelly gave some pants I tried on at J. Crew a "7" which apparently doesn't justify a purchase.

I did get a high score from both of them on a brown sweater vest which I bought, and some trouser jeans which I didn't buy (too expensive).

Here are some comments from my sister during our time at the outlets:

"That's too boxy"
"Don't get the white one. Get the black one."
"It looks like you taped your chest down -- like Cristina Ricci in Now and Then"
"No, Laura, don't even look at those shoes! Nothing with stitching on the toe"

Fortunately I can take it from her. I'll never forget last month when I met her at Fashion Place Mall. She called when I was trying on clothes at Nordstrom. I told her to meet me up there. When I stepped out of the dressing room she took one look at me and her face got all scrunched up and she said, "No! Laur -- not that shirt!" and I was like, "Um, I came in this shirt. It's mine." And then she had to check her balance before she fell over laughing. I'm not going to lie, I was laughing just as hard as she was.

The truth is, I would have purchased a couple shirts and some pants at the outlets had I not a personal shopper negating my choices. It makes me wonder if I walk around looking like a 7 and people just don't say anything. At least I know who to trust.