The dangers of mail order


Methinks I put a tad too much faith in the psychological benefits of fashion. Not that I no longer believe that a beautiful and well-made article of clothing can send my spirits and self-esteem soaring – such pieces do indeed do this every day that I fit them into my outfits. However, when I put a lot of stock (emotionally and financially) into ordering that ‘perfect’ piece which will unquestionably solve all my woes whenever I don it, the fashion gods inevitably dish their disfavour upon an otherwise ignored me.

I absolutely hate brick-and-mortar store shopping with the tiniest of exceptions. And I absolutely love click-ordering something made by a lovely indie designer in a far-off romantic place, knowing that a piece made solely for me must be 100% meant for me. Alas, it seems that, the more money I spend on one piece, the more things go wrong. And these ‘things’ usually end up costing me even more money, whether it’s in the guise of customs/duty fees/taxes, return shipping which I’m responsible for to return or exchange the item, Paypal fees for receiving money for a refund, or a great loss in turn-around if I attempt to re-sell the item on eBay.

I’m sure tomorrow I’ll receive something wonderful in the mail which will re-inflate my enthusiasm for my ritualistic ordering-and-mailbox-vigils. But perhaps such a package will come armed with another exorbitant customs fee, or my husband’s car will blow up, or he’ll break an expensive part on his bicycle ride tonight, or my last eBay sale will get lost in the mail…All very real possibilities that will prove I’ve squandered the last of my spending money for the next year or two in exchange for a closet full of unworn, non-fitting clothing and monthly interest fees which I was proud to never have before.

Sigh.

*No, that beautiful dog (Maggie, my husband’s family’s dog) above has nothing much to do with this post. However, the last time I felt this disheartened was when I had to leave Maggie on our last trip to the in-laws’, knowing that I may never see her again (she lives in Montreal, flights there are ridiculously expensive, and she’s very old). Again, sigh.
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