After months
of anticipation and more planning emails than I dare to count, this weekend my
girlfriends and I finally escaped to Bath. Two nights. Six girls. No interruptions.
It was fantabulous!
The aim of
this annual event, as ever, was to enjoy great company, food, cocktails, shopping,
gossip, advice and laughter. And, we absolutely did! As this was my first
weekend away as a non-drinker (a story for a later blog post) I can tell you
that I also experimented with various mocktails and can highly recommend a
Virgin Mojito!
Due to our
“baggage” we only manage this get together once a year. Let me elaborate.
Between us we have 5 husbands, 1 ex-husband, 17 children, 5 dogs and 3 cats.
The advance organization that goes into making sure all are safe and taken care
of in our absence makes running a multinational corporation look like a walk in
the park.
The lists created for the menfolk left in charge varied from a five page instruction manual
including timetable of children’s activities to detailed steps on how to wash
the school uniforms. Although, one of our group exclaimed last year over
breakfast, as she raised her eyes to the heavens, that if she ever got knocked
down by a bus the kids school kit bags would never be right again. Needless to
say, her husband was not given sports kit washing duty this time. He was merely
left a note saying “feed the dog”. Whilst one doesn’t want to be a control
freak, delegation is not always the best way to manage one’s affairs.
The car
journey to Bath took almost 3 hours but the time flew by. It’s amazing how much
faster time passes when you’re not trapped in a confined space dealing with war
breaking out in the rear seats and stopping every half an hour for crisps,
toilet breaks and someone to vomit over the hard shoulder. Instead, we chatted,
ate our
canapés and
drank beverages from Coke to Becks Blue to Prosecco! How very civilized!
During the
trip, I happened to mention I’d quite like to buy a jumper similar to the one I
was wearing. Little did I know where that statement would lead and the impact
my words would have…
The six of
us shopped the next morning. They started gently, nudging me away from items
I’d selected, guiding me towards others. The narrative was innocuous. It consisted
of phrases such as “Yeeees, or you could try this one instead…” and “I wonder
whether this length might work better…”
The team had
a point. Well, many as it happens. And, let me tell you, they weren’t afraid to
share. It’s lucky I love and trust them so much!
You see, I’d
got myself into a bit of a clothes rut. Since the separation I’d stuck with the
same white t-shirts and blue jeans almost entirely. I didn’t want to buy
clothes because I hated my body and wanted to hold off until I’d lost some weight.
I’ve been saying that for some time now. So, I only bought practical items when
absolutely necessary, like a jumper when I was freezing cold. And I generally
bought things I liked but that used to suit my old body shape not my current
one (see A Different Sort Of Singleton).
They quietly,
subtly, sucked me in. Their smiling faces and whispering voices drawing me
closer to their hangers of choice. By the third shop, the rules had changed.
The façade had fallen and the calm had flown out the window.
These
loving, caring friends had turned into a plague of locusts devouring everything
in the shop, rattling through sale racks, grabbing anything that took their
fancy and throwing aside anything vaguely resembling the poor forgotten jumper
sitting alone in my hotel room.
It was like
being serviced by a team of professional dressers. Remember the nice shop
assistants in Pretty Woman scurrying around Julia Roberts with a pile of
clothes? It was a bit like that, only much scarier. There may have been rules
about the number of people allowed in a changing area but no one was about to
mess with this team and ask them to wait outside!
They each
adopted an unofficial role:
1. The Risk
Taker – Pushing the boundaries and getting me to try on items I wouldn’t
normally give a second look. Allowing new things a chance.
2. The
Barometer – Using her expressions and tone to indicate whether an item worked
(applause and cries of “Yes!”) or not (collapsed on the floor crying with
laughter unable to speak).
3. The
Jeweller – Always ready with a necklace, often one of her own.
4. The Scarf
Stylist – Giving guidance on ways to wear a scarf, patterns, which colours complemented my skin tone and which colours made me look “washed out”.
5. The
Diplomat – There to soften the blow when suggestions became a little too
direct.
(Ladies, if
you’re reading this, I promise I love you all and this was such a fun
experience!)
The team
also had shared roles so all members were Colour Analysts, Confidence Builders
and Zhooshers. Crikey the zhooshing was something else! For those of you with
lexical interests, the verb “zhoosh” was added to the Oxford English Dictionary
in March 2006. Believe me there was much debate about its spelling whilst we were
away. But basically it means adjusting your attire. I haven’t been yanked
around and groped like that since dating my first proper and somewhat
inexperienced boyfriend!
But
zhooshing is essential. One poorly zhooshed jumper led to a “floppy boob with
fabric tucked underneath it” scenario which wasn’t attractive but once suitably
adjusted got a round of applause and a ticket to the “yes” pile.
It did,
however become ever so slightly competitive. There was a points system
developed so a team member who had picked an item of clothing from the rack
scored a point if it ended up on the “yes” pile. On more than one occasion
there was a stand off between the one who saw it first and the one who got to
it first. Then a fight broke out when the suggestion of putting a white shirt
under a sparkly jumper was hijacked by another for use beneath a second top.
Necklaces were ripped from each other's necks in order to accessorize better
than anyone else. I won’t lie, it got ugly.
But, that
evening, we went out for dinner, and I wore my new skirt (I know, me in a skirt?!)
and other purchases from the day. I felt fantastic. I had confidence I hadn’t
experienced in months. My shape was irrelevant because the clothes were chosen
to suit. The outfit wasn’t expensive and there were no designer labels, but I
felt like a catwalk model. Well, almost. I felt good about myself and that
shone through, making me walk taller and smile all night.
“Fashion is not necessarily about labels. It’s not
about brands. It’s about something else that comes from within you.” - Ralph
Lauren
The next
morning I made a little promise to myself. I would take care of myself and take
pride in myself again. Not for anyone else but for me.
I’ve been
home four days now… My tracksuit bottoms and Uggs haven’t seen the light of
day. Instead, each morning I’ve selected clothes that suited me, accessorized,
stepped into clean boots, put on my make-up and zhooshed myself silly!
I now enjoy the performance of getting dressed each morning, thinking
about who I am and how I want to be perceived. I’ve come to love taking care of
myself, something that I believed for quite some time was an unnecessary chore.
I love how I feel when I walk out the door each day.
It’s interesting how people have commented that something’s different
about me but they can’t necessarily put their finger on it. It’s more than just
the clothes and a bit of lippy. It’s me.
“Vain trifles as
they seem, clothes have, they say, more important offices than to merely keep
us warm. They change our view of the world and the world's view of us.” - Virginia
Woolf
I’m still
me. But I want to be the best me that I can be. And now I’m looking at the
world through more confident, happier eyes and the world seems to be looking at
me differently too.
I can’t wait
to see what happens next…
Thank you to my wonderful friends. You may have excelled at zhooshing
this weekend, but you exceed my expectations every single day. Without you, over
this last couple of years, I’d be lost… and really badly dressed!
Now, where did I put that spotty scarf…?
Love
SPB
xxx
No comments:
Post a Comment