Growing up, I was blessed with a talented mother who made most of my clothes. Wearing gorgeous, trendsetting outfits, I always managed to be one season ahead of current styles. But then I “left the nest,” started earning some money of my own and made a startling discovery: shopping for clothes in stores was great fun!
Until Moscow—where, in the ’80s, I moved with my journalist husband and young daughter. Needless to say, shopping for anything in a communist country is far from joyful, although a lack of choice takes the guesswork out of any decision. There was usually only one brand of anything to buy, and lines stretched around the block for it. Despite that, we decided not to come back to the States that first summer but instead stayed closer to Europe and enjoyed all that it offered. That’s when I discovered that (Western) Northern European clothing and I were a match made in heaven. When we did return to the States for a visit, after living overseas for two years, we landed in New York City—fashion capital of the universe. I couldn’t wait to hit the stores and put together an updated wardrobe, one that worked for my international lifestyle. I made an immediate beeline to a major New York department store.
My plan of attack was to wander leisurely through the entire store, take in all it had to offer, then get down to shopping. I mastered each floor, absorbing fabrics, colors and displays like a style-starved sponge. When I got to the top, I immediately headed back down to start the actual shopping part in the section where I began. But I couldn’t quite remember where that was because a tidal wave of choice had suddenly swamped me. Deprived of style and fashion in communist Moscow, I was suddenly standing in the opposite extreme and feeling completely overwhelmed. I stopped cold and was shocked to find myself in tears! My still-Moscow self was reacting to a retail extravaganza on a par with Las Vegas. If you’d lived your life in gray dresses, then were suddenly presented with a thousand different dresses, which five or six would you choose? Was there any way you’d remember the first ten by the time you got to the last ten?
I was wallowing in a strange, disembodied panic, but then somewhere the planets aligned and I got very lucky. An attentive saleswoman saw my distress and came to my rescue. She directed me to a personal shopper—an understanding soul who’d grown up in Germany. Finally! Someone who could understand what I was looking for, who could really help me! She took down a lot of information—including my measurements—then suggested I go enjoy lunch, asking that I return at around 3 p.m. I left relieved and hopeful.
At the stroke of three, I was back in her cozy office, which was now full of clothes. Trying them on, I suddenly felt stylish and cosmopolitan. It was like she’d read my mind or at least figured it all out from our brief conversation. I went home quite pleased with my purchases. Each piece worked separately and in combination with the others, forming lovely outfits. I had lots of great looks that fit both my new lifestyle and me.
A great deal of time has passed since then, but the memory of that amazing and amazingly intuitive saleswoman is still vivid. That is the experience I want everyone to have with their MyShape Personal Shop.
Hello there,
