Concrete jungle, or: conquering shopping fears

As much as I may appreciate "fashion" and "style," I'm actually quite afraid to go shopping. Afraid of entering the store, of clerks approaching me, of me approaching them, of the other shoppers, of trying on clothes. You get it; the whole experience makes me more nervous and paranoid that I usually am. And in the month since the rebajas (sales) have started, I've grown increasingly wary of jamming into high-street shops like Lefties, H&M, and Sfera, trying to stock up on last season's goods at sharply-reduced prices. Indeed, even when it's not rebajas time, the shops can be like almost as asphyxiating as going to the Rastro.

I nevertheless woke up this morning with the urge to check out some of the boutique shops, particularly those within walking distance of Plaza Santa Bárbara (Metro: Alonso Martinez), recommend as part of the stylists' trail. The first stop was Pez, one of the bigger, delightfully airy little spaces that channels a very bobo feel. Silly, but I call it the "looking and the cooking," for that simultaneously intellectual and stylish woman who favors quirky but feminine and sober prints. The Deschanel sisters, for example, or Annie Clark. I'd walked by the display more than a few times, and previously intimidated, had only entered this afternoon.

The new attendants were unobtrusive, and let me peruse as long as I want, feeling the fabrics and pretty much fondling an exquisite Les Prairies de Paris jacket that was much too much for the pocketbook, even though it was in the rebajas section. The plaid dress I'd also stared at from outside was much less appealing up close, feeling more like a potato sack, if anything else. The item that I coveted most, however, was the bag of my life (ok, the day), an Egyptian blue piece that doubled as a tote and a purse when you folded it over. This isn't much of a description, so I urge you to check it out, though I should've taken a picture.

In an effort to thank them for letting me spend a good chunk of time in the place without any purchases, I asked what music was playing in the background. I'd already known the answer.

He's Swedish, right?

I headed up to Oliphant next, a chance discovery from last December when I was at Biblioketa. Oliphant had a similar vibe to Pez, though on a much smaller scale and as it seemed, offering more French labels, like Tara Jarmon, Madame à Paris, Mellow Yellow. Many gorgeous pieces also on sale, but none of the ones I liked, like the hunter green Madame à Paris tunic, was no longer available in my size. Another stunning piece I tried on was (of course) a cobalt blue top by Bellerose. Since there was no price on the tags from the new collection, I had to ask, and almost choked.

Then 10 minutes later, at Mott, where I first turned the corner in order to not enter, but ended up spending about an hour. The storefront is deceiving; the shop actually extends to two more spaces behind, the last dedicated to--you guessed it--rebajas. Of the three shops I'd so far visited, Mott offered the most pieces I wanted to try on, from a leaf-print dress by a label whose name starts with M to delicate cotton shirts by Iro. I was close to purchasing a hazel tunic by Iro when the attendant informed me that they were, again, out of my size.

Un/fortunate.

What I was hoping to be my last stop was Zadig & Voltaire, one of two Madrid branches of the French label. The style here is also quite bobo with the rocker tinge. Skulls and crossbones everywhere. Or pirates, I guess. The last time I visited, I wasn't compelled by any particular item as much as I was by the color palette: muted (not pastel) pinks, blues, greens. Also some items for men, which I admit, weren't half bad, for the modern Baudelaire--oh, I meant Voltaire, haha.

I toted a sweater in my hand and when I turned around, there was an attendant smiling at me, waiting to cater to my needs. She recommended a few other pieces from the spring/summer collection, "super cute," she said under a cardigan and over a jean miniskirt and tights. Like she was wearing! I had to grin shyly and burst the thought bubble, invisibly rising from my head, screaming, "Yo! I just want to try this sweater on!"

The attendant was quite, well, attentive, as per the job title, I'd imagine. She was quick to give me different sizes, different colors, recommend this one to go with that one, etc, that I had to keep rushing to put my shirt back on before opening the dressing room curtain. At the counter, I was half-eavesdropping on another attendant speaking flawless French with another customer (who I assumed from her accent to be a native francophone), and asked the one with whom I was working if she spoke French. She smiled.

A little bit...but it's not mandatory.

I took advantage of the situation to ease up on my nerves. French was something I could do. Small talk in French, at this bastion of French rocker chic, was something I could do.

Do you guys spend a lot of time in France, then?
No, not all...but you must?
Just some friends.
So you must know the label very well, then? The brown eyes looked up, with a conspiratorial twinkle.

It's half-fiction: I knew the label, but once again, I'd never seen myself actually going into the shop, for fear of the hyper-cool...whatever. All my insecurities to the fore. The ladies at this branch, however, seemed real, but I played dumb again, asking if there was another branch.

On Claudio Coello.
Number 80..8.

I wished the attendants as I headed out into a pleasant afternoon. The actual last stop was Zara, that Galician fashion empire, as Time Out calls it, and rightly so. I don't doubt that generally speaking, every Spanish woman has at least one piece in her wardrobe labeled Zara. The company's schtick is a "downmarket" take on catway fashions without, supposedly, the "downmarket" quality. In other words, a kind of sartorial democracy, where the Zara woman's assumed schtick is to take the piece and make it her own, at a fraction of the price. In my opinion, Zara can be quite costly but from the looks of the register lines, its popularity isn't dwindling any time soon.

Still, I wonder if there isn't room in the Spanish economy, in the fashion system, in the culture for US-style thrift stores like Goodwill and ARC? There are places like Humana, but they aren't as wide-spread, with (I think) only five in Madrid. Perhaps this is a topic for later inquiry...


Shops listed:
Pez - Regueros 15
Oliphant - Santa Teresa 7
Mott - Barquillo 31
Zadig & Voltaire - Almirante 27


(Image: Hola.com, an ad for Misako, a bag chain:
Careful!
Rebajas!
Don't lose sight of the desired bag
Don't insult, step on, or push anyone
Stay calm; there's something for everyone)