Retail Therapy

I love going clothes shopping... UNLESS, that is, I'm looking for something in particular. As soon as I have a mental picture of the sort of thing I might like to buy, all hope of success is catapulted over the fence to be gnawed and spat out by the dog next door. Of course, the whole process might be made slightly less teeth-grindingly painful if retailers would take more account of the needs of the consumer, rather than trying to bend the consumer to fit the dreck on offer.

FOR EXAMPLE:

Just because something is in fashion doesn't mean you can sell that only and nothing else. So, boho is in? Fantastic. But I still don't want to sleep in a beaded fucking kaftan. Has it occured to you, the merchant, that if you sell something different from every other thing around you might actually attract MORE customers, the ones who are totally sick of buying the same tar-green crinkled frou-frou skirt with TULLE STICKING OUT THE BOTTOM, FOR GOD'S SAKE as everybody else?

Flourescent lights in a change room are OUT. Being able to see ALL of my bum is also out. If your lighting makes me look anaemic, prematurely-varicose veined and like I'm suffering from a case of terminal acne (even if I AM), I AM NOT GOING TO BUY ANYTHING. Make me feel good about myself. The cubicle should be big enough so that I can see myself side on, but for arse opinions I'd rather rely on my friend, dragged kicking and screaming into the shop for moral support, or the salesgirl, who I least EXPECT to lie to me. I KNOW the walls aren't quite straight and therefore the mirror angle is a bit off and that's why I look like I've got a backside that the world's refugees could pitch their tents on, but it's still going to upset me.

We, the people...