MyBerry Blog

Help me father, for I have shopped.

I don’t know how many Hail Marys are in order, or if they would even help a wretch like me. Because I was a bad, bad girl. However, you could say that my trip to the Prada boutique this weekend was a spiritual experience in a way: I did walk out thinking, “Holy shit!”

I had heard and accepted the gospel; how did I lose my way? I was looking for an outfit for an upcoming event, and I told myself that I had to avoid the sales at certain designer boutiques because I knew myself: I knew that I would be so caught up in the moment that I wouldn’t be able to think straight, I wouldn’t be able to resist buying way too much just because it was 50% off. That’s just what happens to me. And while that’s okay at a store like Saks or Neimans, which both have quite reasonable return policies, that doesn’t fly at boutiques where most of the time, sale or not, there are simply no returns.

So there I was in SoHo, walking in the vicinity of the Prada boutique but managing to avoid it. Good girl. Then I zipped up to Saks, where pickings were slim. The new spring merchandise looked lovely, but it’s still barely above freezing in New York, so I was out of luck. Then, as I walked up Fifth Avenue on my way to Bergdorf’s, I suddenly felt pulled toward the west side of the street. I heard it calling out to me. I’m here. I’m waiting for you.

No, I said to myself. Skip the Prada store. Go to Barneys. They carry Prada. They take returns in case you get carried away. It’s not too late. Cross the street. Go!

But it just couldn’t be helped. I saw the lights inside the store and I had to go in. And besides, it was cold. I needed shelter from the cold. Right. Out of the cold and into that dangerous feeding ground of the omnivorous, insatiable Homo shopperiens. Yes, that would be my native land.

There’s just something about the hushed hum of activity, the calming pale-green walls, the clink of the heavy wire hangers against each other as you browse through racks that are stocked just sparsely enough so that you feel like if you don’t buy it now, it’s gonna be gone.

And how was I supposed to fight that? I’m simply not equipped with such self-control. I tried on outfit after outfit, each one more fabulous than the last. And let me tell you, they do something to those mirrors in the dressing room. Those holiday pounds seemed to have disappeared.

The store closed at 6, and still my saleswoman was plying me with more pieces to try on. A few other shoppers were lingering too, and they were just egging me on, telling me how much they loved everything on me. I’m helpless up against that kind of peer pressure. So about half past 6, I walked out into the cold night air with a big shopping bag carrying what turns out to be the first outfit off the fall/winter runway and an amazing jacket like this one but in black –and a Prada hangover like you wouldn’t believe.

So, was I chastened? Full of regret and in need of some alka seltzer?

Nah. You’ve heard of the hair of the dog, haven’t you? ‘Cause you might just have spotted me at Bergdorf’s afterwards looking for a pair of shoes to wear with my new purchases!