There’s something about trial rooms that I just don’t understand. Why do they make people look so damn ugly?
I’m serious. As I get ready for a day out and about shopping, I always look wonderful (and that’s an unbiased opinion). My skin is glowing. My hair looks glossy. My clothes are the epitome of chic (ignoring very rare fashion faux pas). C’est magnifique!
As I glide through row upon row of shoes, bags and clothes I feel as though life could possibly not get better. With my keen eye I pick out clothes that can only make me better. I make my way towards the trial room, and try to make the always-surly attendant smile – a feat that I am yet to succeed at. (Though I’m sure if they got rid of those fake nails and thongs that escaped from the waistband of their jeans – they would be a whole lot happier. But then that’s just me)
As I try on the outfit, a tingle of excitement goes down my spine. Somewhere near my lumbar vertebrae the tingle of excitement turns into cold dread. Because this is usually when I’ve turned around and discovered what my formerly radiant self has turned in to. It’s like those makeovers where the before is so much better than the after (but everyone still hugs and kisses the victim telling her she looks great.)
So there I am. In a new outfit. Looking like something even the cat wouldn’t drag in. My hair looks like it could use botox. My pores look like they’re being viewed under an electron microscope. And everything else just sags.
Does the management not know this? Are they unaware that their mirrors should be in the house of illusions at the local circus? Do they not want people to buy their clothes?
The biggest offender here is M&S. It’s like they’ve lit their rooms to highlight your worst features. And your badly waxed upper lip. Hey people who own M&S – no amount of Erin O’Connor advertising is going to help. No one is going to buy your clothes if they think they look like Sandra Day O’ Connor in them.
Now not all stores have got it wrong. There’s Zara that makes you look great in everything. Even when you don’t. I tried on a lycra t-shirt once at Zara. In the room it seemed to hide all my unsightly bulges and curves. Apparently it didn’t. When I came out to show my better half, he turned around and pretended to talk to a bald mannequin so no one would think he was with me.
Then there are the stores that do it right. Selfridges and Top Shop have never lied to me. River Island is another friend. Fab India back home stays close to the truth too.
So the next time you think you look terrible in the trial room, hold your head high, give the clothes back to the surly, thong revealing assistant and buy a wonder bra instead.