Join me on Facebook :)
The day I cried in Debenhams...
Tomorrow night is the first Wakefield Retail Awards, and Created in Yorkshire has reached the finals! How fab is that? We've only been a team for nine months and here we are preparing a 'just in case' speech for, well, just in case we win! Yay! A great, and very justifiable excuse for a cheeky little night out. And to swap my daily uniform of jeans, a t-shirt and either pumps or Birkis depending on the weather, for something lovely, pretty and grown up! It turns out that our Boss Lady's on holiday and won't be able to make the event, so yours truly has been tasked with saying a few words if they're needed. And our local newspaper, the Wakefield Express, is organising the awards so you can be fairly sure there'll be some snaps in next week's paper. Dress pressure!
I have tried everywhere I can think of to find a dress. Actually, that's not strictly true, but I have tried absolutely everywhere that sells dresses a) in my size, b) suitable for an evening event, and c) in my budget, which in all honesty is not that much more than a fiver! I have ordered online but wasn't happy with the sizing, trawled every rail in the outlet village for a special dress at an extra special price, and today it was time for me to hit the high street.
In the past, I've had some unexpected and fantastic finds in the clothing department at the supermarket, so I dropped Beatrix and Jasper at school and started there. Asda was always a long shot, and turned out to be fruitless. Have you ever tried the Gok Wan range in Sainsbury's? I've seen some really nice pieces, particularly around Christmas, but I had no luck there either. So on to Next. Neither of the dresses I'd seen out of stock in their directory were in stock in store. And on and on and on and on I went, visiting every clothes shop in Trinity Walk that met my three criteria.
At 10.15, I wandered into Debenhams, pushchair and all. (Did I forget to mention that I had Abel with me? And that he was a bit fussy, clearly having inherited the anti-shopping gene from both of his parents?) It was bonkers - there must have been close to 300 dresses to look at. How many dresses can you actually consider before you go dress blind, I wonder? Definitely not that many, so I took my chance and accosted a store assistant as she walked passed. Our little exchange went like this...
Me: "Excuse me, do you work in ladies wear?" She did. "I could do with a bit of help; do you have five minutes?"
Her: "Yes, of course! What are you looking for?"
Me: "Well, I'm going to an awards evening tomorrow (her eyes widened slightly, clearly recognising the panic of the last-minute dress purchase), the shop I'm part of has made it to the finals of the Wakefield Retail Awards, and I haven't anything to wear that fits and, and, and..."
That's when it happened: my eyes started leaking. Boiling hot blobs of salt water sploshed from my eyes and down my reddening cheeks. And they were the extra large tears that do indeed splosh, not the dainty type that well up in the corners of your eyes first, giving you chance to catch them with a well-timed Kleenex.
Me: "Oh, no! Now I'm crying! I don't know how this happened, I don't even cry when things die."
Her: "Stop, please don't make me laugh, because it will turn into tears and I'll be joining you! Right, don't panic. We will get you sorted. I'm going to get the keys for the Personal Shopper booth and take you in there. You can be calm, the little fella can run around and we'll get you a dress."
Me: "Thank you. I feel so stupid. It's just a dress. I don't know why I'm doing this..."
Her: "Listen, it's all going to be fine. The panic's setting in, but we're going to get you sorted. Go for a wander around and I'll come and find you when I've got the keys."
And off she went, all sympathetic eyes and really calm demeanour.
I trotted around with the pushchair for a couple of minutes and picked up two dresses from the teary blur around me before the calm, kind lady returned to collect me and whisked me off to a room about the size of my bedroom, complete with a sofa, scatter cushions and plush velvet curtains. We talked a little about what I like - I explained that I feel good about my small waist but everything else needs hiding or disguising - and I accidentally gave her a potted life history. Whoops! Have you ever done that? Found yourself inexplicably pouring your heart out to a stranger? It's not something I make a habit of, to be honest, but the calm, kind lady just let it happen, as if it's par for the course during her Friday morning at work!
I gave her a bit (okay, a lot!) of background to me coming out of teaching and how I ended up sewing and running a little business and then becoming part of Created In Yorkshire, and she explained that she'd also made some big changes to stay home to raise her son when she became a mum, and it helped that she knew where I was coming from. Then she told me her name was Sue and she left the room to collect a few dresses as a baseline and I felt like I'd been touched by the hand of serenity, seriously! You know that scene in Grease when Frenchie's guardian angel is singing 'Beauty School Drop Out' and everything looks all dreamy and soft-focus and she forgets her crazy pink hair mistake and the horrors of being a drop out? That private changing room was like that! Abel and I had a snack, played a few game of hide-and-seek behind the curtains and I was calm again, the tears of minutes earlier forgotten.
Sue's first run returned a bounty of four dresses to get an idea of shape, length and neckline and I tried them while she popped off to round up some more. It was fun! I don't remember the last time I had fun shopping for clothes, but it was definitely before I had three babies in four years, and probably when I wore matching underwear every day!
I have tried everywhere I can think of to find a dress. Actually, that's not strictly true, but I have tried absolutely everywhere that sells dresses a) in my size, b) suitable for an evening event, and c) in my budget, which in all honesty is not that much more than a fiver! I have ordered online but wasn't happy with the sizing, trawled every rail in the outlet village for a special dress at an extra special price, and today it was time for me to hit the high street.
In the past, I've had some unexpected and fantastic finds in the clothing department at the supermarket, so I dropped Beatrix and Jasper at school and started there. Asda was always a long shot, and turned out to be fruitless. Have you ever tried the Gok Wan range in Sainsbury's? I've seen some really nice pieces, particularly around Christmas, but I had no luck there either. So on to Next. Neither of the dresses I'd seen out of stock in their directory were in stock in store. And on and on and on and on I went, visiting every clothes shop in Trinity Walk that met my three criteria.
At 10.15, I wandered into Debenhams, pushchair and all. (Did I forget to mention that I had Abel with me? And that he was a bit fussy, clearly having inherited the anti-shopping gene from both of his parents?) It was bonkers - there must have been close to 300 dresses to look at. How many dresses can you actually consider before you go dress blind, I wonder? Definitely not that many, so I took my chance and accosted a store assistant as she walked passed. Our little exchange went like this...
Me: "Excuse me, do you work in ladies wear?" She did. "I could do with a bit of help; do you have five minutes?"
Her: "Yes, of course! What are you looking for?"
Me: "Well, I'm going to an awards evening tomorrow (her eyes widened slightly, clearly recognising the panic of the last-minute dress purchase), the shop I'm part of has made it to the finals of the Wakefield Retail Awards, and I haven't anything to wear that fits and, and, and..."
That's when it happened: my eyes started leaking. Boiling hot blobs of salt water sploshed from my eyes and down my reddening cheeks. And they were the extra large tears that do indeed splosh, not the dainty type that well up in the corners of your eyes first, giving you chance to catch them with a well-timed Kleenex.
Me: "Oh, no! Now I'm crying! I don't know how this happened, I don't even cry when things die."
Her: "Stop, please don't make me laugh, because it will turn into tears and I'll be joining you! Right, don't panic. We will get you sorted. I'm going to get the keys for the Personal Shopper booth and take you in there. You can be calm, the little fella can run around and we'll get you a dress."
Me: "Thank you. I feel so stupid. It's just a dress. I don't know why I'm doing this..."
Her: "Listen, it's all going to be fine. The panic's setting in, but we're going to get you sorted. Go for a wander around and I'll come and find you when I've got the keys."
And off she went, all sympathetic eyes and really calm demeanour.
I trotted around with the pushchair for a couple of minutes and picked up two dresses from the teary blur around me before the calm, kind lady returned to collect me and whisked me off to a room about the size of my bedroom, complete with a sofa, scatter cushions and plush velvet curtains. We talked a little about what I like - I explained that I feel good about my small waist but everything else needs hiding or disguising - and I accidentally gave her a potted life history. Whoops! Have you ever done that? Found yourself inexplicably pouring your heart out to a stranger? It's not something I make a habit of, to be honest, but the calm, kind lady just let it happen, as if it's par for the course during her Friday morning at work!
I gave her a bit (okay, a lot!) of background to me coming out of teaching and how I ended up sewing and running a little business and then becoming part of Created In Yorkshire, and she explained that she'd also made some big changes to stay home to raise her son when she became a mum, and it helped that she knew where I was coming from. Then she told me her name was Sue and she left the room to collect a few dresses as a baseline and I felt like I'd been touched by the hand of serenity, seriously! You know that scene in Grease when Frenchie's guardian angel is singing 'Beauty School Drop Out' and everything looks all dreamy and soft-focus and she forgets her crazy pink hair mistake and the horrors of being a drop out? That private changing room was like that! Abel and I had a snack, played a few game of hide-and-seek behind the curtains and I was calm again, the tears of minutes earlier forgotten.
Sue's first run returned a bounty of four dresses to get an idea of shape, length and neckline and I tried them while she popped off to round up some more. It was fun! I don't remember the last time I had fun shopping for clothes, but it was definitely before I had three babies in four years, and probably when I wore matching underwear every day!
As Sue popped in and out with more dresses, some shoes to help with the overall look, and some jackets and cardigans for cover-up options, we had a few more little chats and I learned that she's already a big fan of Created In Yorkshire. She reminded me that if we win tomorrow, the people I will have to stand in front of are no different to the thousands of children and parents I stood before in my time as a teacher, and that all of the people there - even the big wigs from the more established finalists - were once children themselves. I just need to harness my inner speaker and bring her out again.
Without boring you with any more of the little details, something special happened today. Sue The Dress Lady really moved me, she gave me a different take on things and I came away with a bit of an identity, something which has been lost for a long time. She made me realise that I'm not my twenty-something, carefree self, that I'm not the suited teacher, nor am I the old island girl on the beach. But that's okay. It's okay to be a mum and businesswoman and a maker. It's okay to wear practical jeans and t-shirts every day. And it's definitely okay to wear something a bit more classy and grown up to an occasion, something that won't blow the budget like it would have eight or ten years ago, because there are other priorites now and my riches are somewhere else.
Without boring you with any more of the little details, something special happened today. Sue The Dress Lady really moved me, she gave me a different take on things and I came away with a bit of an identity, something which has been lost for a long time. She made me realise that I'm not my twenty-something, carefree self, that I'm not the suited teacher, nor am I the old island girl on the beach. But that's okay. It's okay to be a mum and businesswoman and a maker. It's okay to wear practical jeans and t-shirts every day. And it's definitely okay to wear something a bit more classy and grown up to an occasion, something that won't blow the budget like it would have eight or ten years ago, because there are other priorites now and my riches are somewhere else.
I did buy a dress in the end. It's a grown up number that I hope I'll get lots of wear out of. I wasn't swayed by the price, or the brand, or my own idea of what suits me, and I feel quite nice in it! There was a massive bonus of a 50% discount today, too, which I didn't know until I got to the till. Huzzah!
Today I cried in Debenhams. Today I was removed from the shop floor to a semi-padded room by Sue the retail angel and I almost enjoyed clothes shopping. Today Sue gave me back a piece of myself and I became a bit more comfortable with who I am now instead of missing the someone I used to be. Today I took a great step in accepting myself, and I liked it.
I suggested to Sue, in all seriousness, that she considers a career change to some kind of life coach, but in between time, I'll be sure to commend her customer service to the store manager and be ever glad of the help she gave me today.
And now I'd like to know. Did you ever get big help from somewhere or someone unexpected?
