If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve probably noticed this new hashtag/hobby I’m trying on for size called #Lorigoesshopping, which is actually pretty weird because I’m not a stylish person AT ALL. I don’t have an enviable closet, I have to Google words like “peplum”, and I can literally be found wearing the same five outfits every five days.
In spite of these fashion faux pas, I’ve been stripping down to try on wouldn’t-be-caught-dead-in / I-could-never-afford-this / I-need-a-pick-me-up / please-God-let-this-fit / can-I-pull-this-off / all-the-cool-kids-are-wearing-it clothing for a while now. I do when I have money. I do it when I don’t. I do it for laughs. But most of all, I do it for fun.
But it hasn’t always been that way.
I’ve stood naked and vulnerable in dressing rooms where negative self-talk screams the loudest. I’ve examined every flaw under harsh florescent lighting and fought back tears. I’ve hated my body, cursed my curves, and I secretly hoped that with every garment invited in, I might finally make peace with my body — that some sacred, chosen item might fit in all the right places. That it might transform the silhouette of all that I loathed. That it might make me feel happy, confident, and better than I felt on the inside.
But it never happened. Never once. And maybe that was because there was nothing wrong with my body in the first place. From that realization forward, I decided to start making shopping fun.
For me, the shopping experience is about so much more than clothes. It’s about taking time for myself, playing around with self-expression, working toward self-acceptance, and learning to silence self-limitation. And even though I still I ask myself with every swipe of clothing on the rack whether I have the body/style/personality/guts to wear a particular item, what people might think of me in it, or whether I’m worth it, I’m learning instead to ask whether the item is worthy of me.
You see, you and I possess bodies worthy of celebration. They’ve created life. They’ve sustained it. They’ve given. They’ve suffered. They’ve healed. They tell stories. And they’re beautiful — each and every one.
So maybe shopping doesn’t have to make us feel bad anymore. Maybe fitting rooms can be fun and even a little silly. And maybe we can share in the experience together, because shopping’s more fun with friends. So with that, I cordially invite you into my dressing room for laughs, lessons, and some seriously unflattering lighting.
What are we still doing here? Let’s go shopping!
MOMMYFRIEND 
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