I had to stop looking at fashion magazines last October. I think people think I’m being dramatic or funny when I say that, but sadly this bit of information is true. It’s not that I read magazines that often, but at some point I realized that what had started out as harmless fun had become harmful to my heart.
Before this past year, I would have never considered myself to be the type of girl that struggles with materialism. Don’t get me wrong- I have always liked fashion and shopping, but I was usually very content with what I had. But almost as soon as I made the commitment last summer to be a self-supported missionary in the worst economic crisis in a half-century, the little sin of materialism crept slowly and steadily into my life. I didn’t even realize it was happening at first, but eventually the reminder of all the pretty things that I may never be able to afford started to almost haunt me. I distinctly remember crying last November because I couldn’t even afford a little summer dress that was on sale for $30. You know things are bad when you burst into tears over a dress that you probably won’t even like 2 years down the road. And so I made the decision to lay down the glossy pages with the pretty faces for a long time. Only recently have I been able to enjoy fash mags again. But I still have to ask the Lord to protect me from loving the things of this world too much. I still have to be careful not to find my identity in looking cute.
While I like to pretend that I’m trendy and maybe sometimes even a little fierce, I’ll admit that my fashion attempts are a tad misguided at times. Sometimes I simply cannot rely on my own instincts. And so when the Dilliard’s saleswoman tapped on my fitting room door the other day to ask if I needed help or a different size, I jumped at the opportunity to get a much needed second opinion. I soon as the words "I need a cocktail dress for a friend’s wedding" left my lips, the saleswoman jumped at the opportunity to bank on commission by pulling for me 15 of the most expensive dresses in the store.
Faster than you can say “Semi-Annual Sale” my new fashion advisor was back. Are you scared of one-shoulder? asks my new BFF. Not at all, I say. Bring it on. I crack open the fitting room door and she slips me a gorgeous BCBG dress, the exact dress in fact I’ve been lusting after for weeks but steered clear of because I knew it easily costs almost what I make in one paycheck. I’m treading on dangerous ground here. Against my better judgment, I decide to try it on, just to see. Maybe it will look terrible, I think, and then I won’t even have to worry. No such luck. It’s gorgeous. I’m gorgeous in it. I know this because now not one but two sales women are practically squealing like a pair of tweens who just spotted Justin Bieber. They tell me over and over how gorgeous I look, probably to make a sale, but I’d like to think the way I looked in it actually had something to do with it too. I glance down at the price tag again. Gulp. The number didn’t magically shrink like I had hoped. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford this dress. Which I decide is really okay, because I enjoy being able to pay my bills like a responsible adult. I also enjoy being able to afford feeding myself, because I really like food.
I inform the crestfallen Dilliard’s employees that as much as I love it, I simply cannot afford the dress. Who cares? interjects employee Two. It’s (yes you guessed) gorgeous! Call Daddy! jokes employee One. Umm, did I give off the impression that I’m a spoiled rich girl and/or a reckless spender? I think. Cause I definitely didn’t even wash my hair this morning. Employee Two perks up as she tells me that I could open up a Dilliard’s card today and get a whopping 10% off! Uhh, I hate to break it to ya sweetheart, but the extra $34 I’d save isn’t gonna help me much. Begrudgingly they decide it is time to graze in less expensive pastures.
“Semi-Annual Sale!” Saleswoman Numero Uno is back with another fistful of dresses. I shopped the MaxAzria sales rack for you! she practically sings. Oh great. Even at 30-50% off, I’m still looking at more than I pay in cell phone and car insurance combined each month. But the dress is just soooo pretty that I can’t pass up trying it on. I still have some Christmas money from last year, so maybe I could make this work . Yeah, only if it’s 50% off and they give me another discount for some loose threading around the snap closures. I slip it on and boom!- instant glamour. Greasy hair aside, I feel like I should be cartooned and slapped on a Jordi Labanda notebook. Flowing fabric, one sleeve, intricate beading; I look like I belong on the runway. The women also love this one, but luckily for me they agree that this dress might be too fancy for the event at hand. I breathe a sigh of relief while I decide what to tackle next.
At this point there are still several cute and more affordable dresses left to try on, but because saleswoman and friend realize that I will be purchasing a dress under $125 they quickly lose interest. And here I was thinking they actually cared about the customer!
Without having to show the Sales Hawks the rest of the options, I quickly breeze through the rest of the dress searching process. Because they weren’t around, I also received the added bonus of not being forced into trying on the few dresses that were designed for people neither young nor hip. Yes, here even the ugly dresses are expensive too.
My fair-weather saleswoman comes back to half-heartedly help me choose from the three I had narrowed down. Actually, that’s a lie. She stands there as I choose the final one, a very cute, very versatile, and much more affordable frock. I don’t know why she was so glum. The dress was still expensive in my book. I checked out excited about my purchase but even more excited about the upcoming event- the upcoming wedding of my sweet friend Tess to her fiancé Jared.
I realized on the way home how silly these shenanigans had become, how silly my battle with material things had become. Whatever void I’m trying to fill, it will never be filled apart from Christ. I don’t ever need to be the most beautiful girl in the room, and I certainly don’t need a dress to make me beautiful. Beautiful things don’t equal a beautiful girl. Only Christ can make me beautiful, because He is beautiful.
