Allow me to qualify the title a bit. I do not hate shopping for clothes. I do realize that prevalent social norms dictate that one should replace one’s Levi’s when the fashionable rip at the knee starts extending to the thigh pocket. Nobody likes to get arrested for public indecency. No, I do not hate shopping. It’s just a moderate dislike.
It is not as if I hate shopping of any kind. Let me loose in a bookstore and I can happily settle down for a goodish spell of browsing, at least until the store owner turns my chair around after a day so I can catch some sunlight. Ditto in a watch shop. But when it comes to clothes, I hit a mental roadblock. The unparalleled stress of picking up one set of pants, waiting in line at the trial room listening to the desperate ranting of size 34 waists trying to fit into size 32 pants before finally being able to try on yours and discovering that when they said “Low rise” they actually meant “Errm, we’re not quite sure, but we believe they may reach up to the lower third of your butt and stay there so long as you use a good belt (not included), breathe carefully and follow Mormonism” is enough to drain me completely. Repeating the process only tends to aggravate the pain.
It is a state of mind borne out of years of experience in the field of high fashion (I used to buy Levi’s and Adidas once). It is rarely about what you wear; it’s about how you wear it. As long as you don’t get the latter right, the former keeps draining your wallet. Warren Buffet affirmed this insight when he said “I buy expensive suits. They just look cheap on me”. So it is often with a sense of trepidation that I carry a pair of Levi’s into a trial room. The books a man reads reveal only his character, but the clothes he wears reveals not only his taste, but his shape as well. Very disturbing.
Maybe there is a secret to finding the right pair of jeans, or that perfect blazer without burning a hole in your pocket and denting your self esteem. If there is, clearly we (read Buffet and Nair) haven’t found it yet.