This has baffled me for years, but I think I will never figure out why I can, in all of ten short minutes, stride into a shop, pick out a basketball shoe, ask very decisively for my size, try it on but not look into the mirror, take out my wallet, and pay freakin 800 bucks for it.
Yet I can never bear to part with anything less for a dress or a jacket that I try over and over again, scrutinize and admire and scrutinize again to death in the dressing room mirror for maybe, say, twenty minutes. If there's no long queue outside.
It kills me. Shopping does.
So I'd rather not.
But I suppose what matters is not the price that happiness comes with, that I have to pay.
It's what fits.
And you'd never know what fits, till you try it.
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