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When I was younger, perhaps high school age, my mom and I took a shopping trip to the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City. Some of her favorite stores were still there and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Mommy loved the old fashioned stores that had lovely rugs, served tea while you shopped and had huge powder rooms with soft upholstered furniture. After that shopping trip with her, I fell in love with that style of retail shopping experience too.
I don’t keep up with economic indicators, vis-à-vis the impact of unemployment and recession to privately-owned retailers.
However, in 2008, I started noticing some changes.
One particular day, shortly after Thanksgiving, I was doing some Christmas shopping and visited a couple of well established clothing boutiques in Houston. At Kathryn Risley’s shop I noticed that the inventory appeared very sparse, particularly given the time of year. However, I was fortunate enough to find a lovely top for my mom, on a mark-down rack, so I made my purchase and counted my blessings. Earlier that day, at Etui, another favorite just down the street, I had overheard one of the staff members at the shop telling a customer that they hadn’t observed any change to their customer’s spending habits, despite all the reports of economic doom and gloom.
Etui is located in an upscale urban neighborhood, but their merchandise is very reasonably priced. Well, not priced like TJ Maxx, but you know, not like the privately owned boutiques on Chicago’s famed Oak Street either.
It sounded like their client base was loyal enough and financially secure enough to continue spending money on clothing and accessories.
I was relieved to hear this news. While I’m certainly far from an avid shopper, I love pretty clothing and accessories and love knowing that there are a few places where I am confident I can locate completely unique, quality garments in a comfortable, but stimulating atmosphere at a price point that works within my budget.
Elizabeth’s Boutique in The Woodlands falls in this category too. I had been fortunate enough to time my last couple of visits to this lovely store to take advantage of an after-season clearance. But new inventory was still plentiful. My optimism remained high. These boutiques gave me the same feeling of that shopping experience with my mom some 30 years ago.
Kathryn Risley sent an email in early spring 2009, saying that she had closed her store and was launching a new fashion venture in an online space.
Six or seven months later, I received an email from Etui indicating that they were announcing a new fashion partner that was going to share their retail space. Hmmm. It didn’t lure me in, but I was hopeful their resourcefulness would carry them through the apparent financial difficulties creeping into even these businesses with a “loyal” customer base.
About four weeks ago, I noticed a “Sale” banner at Elizabeth’s Boutique indicating they were going out of business.
Then today another email arrived from Etui. They are closing their doors after almost 30 years.
I have to admit, it bothers me. I don’t know if shopping at independent retailers has been largely replaced by shopping online. Perhaps Kathryn Risley knows. Perhaps permanent changes in human behavior have been established, driven by technology, fuel cost and basic economics.
But on the eve of Mother’s Day, this news has extinguished the possibility of participating in an experience that always made me feel like my mother’s daughter.
With the impending time change, I am anxious for spring to burst forth. Mother Nature is gathering momentum as the earth glides on its path, ever closer to the sun.
Paging back through my book of memories, the imprints of the season emerge: patent-leather shoes, my mom’s bunny cake, dandelions, my younger brother’s little league baseball games, hydrangeas in my grandmother’s yard, laundry hanging outdoors to dry. In my school years, with the coming of spring it became customary to spend lunch breaks picnicking on the courtyard lawn, brown bags of sandwiches and apples. The warm sun and easy, uncomplicated conversations of teenaged girls. Discussing lipgloss or sandals.
I’m not so far removed from that young girl. As I entered my closet this morning, I cast my eye over to the few pairs of shoes that will certainly announce the emergence of spring. The fuscia pumps, nude patent, red-white-black polka dot strappy sandals. And lip gloss in pale sugar pink or coral bright. I selected the nude patent pumps. As a proper southern girl, I still observe seasonal wardrobe boundaries. Spring-summer garments and shoes are off-limits until Easter. Except for my little episodes of cheating, like today.
It’s a neutral though. Sort of like the Switzerland of shoes, right?
On the eve of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, the collective residents of greater Houston collaborate to celebrate the spirit of the rodeo by participating in Go Texan Day. Essentially, it’s an excuse to wear jeans, boots, hats and big belt buckles to work. Or for the ladies, western romance. My quickly pulled together Go Texan ensemble for the day includes boots, long knit skirt, crisp white cotton blouse with boning (for that touch of romance) tortoiseshell (faux, of course) earrings, soft scarf tied kerchief style, and casual updo. Tada! Instantly transported to a gracious ranch dripping with old-style Texas charm.
The HLSR is the largest rodeo in the world. The festivities will begin with a parade, celebrating the arrival of the trail riders that hailed from destinations near and far beyond the Houston borders. Other notable highlights, besides the drama and excitement of the livestock events and rodeo competition itself, include the carnival, barbeque cookoff, art contests, and a spectacular wine tasting event.
So, everybody wang-chung, I mean, Go Texan!
I’m a chick flick sort of girl. I like movies where the central themes are about building human relationships and making peace with yourself. If the characters are somewhat fashion minded with great shoes and accessories, that’s a big plus. I like intelligent dialog, sweet sentimentality and a good, old-fashioned Hollywood happy ending (sniffle, sniffle).
After all, with the price of movies these days ($19 for two tickets before 5pm thank you very much and $5 for a small popcorn) I don’t need to add an artificial layer of stress to my current existence. I don’t want anxiety, loud bangs, aggressive personalities or dark suspense. I’d be emotionally wiped out by the time the movie is over.
So, dear filmmakers, I realize I might be among a rapidly declining demographic, but please keep making chick movies. Thank you.
So we’re getting ready to go out the other night and I’m trying to decide which shoes to wear with my outfit. There are two choices – ankle boots or chunky mary janes. I ask Cristy and she says the boots.
I put them on, but they feel really awkward and tight, as if they don’t fit. So I stand up and look at my feet. That’s weird; the toes of the boots are sort of pointed out, like in the wrong direction. I start to wonder about this aloud; maybe the boots are defective or something. How could that have happened?
Then the harsh reality washes over me. I put them on the wrong feet. Duh.
I love to hear other people tell stories about events that I experienced. Their point of view is naturally different from mine. The things they think are funny are often subtleties that eclipse my awareness. So it is always with pleasure that I listen to Cristy tell stories about the episodes of our moving experience.
Today, Cristy is my guest blogger, but I am her proxy. I am retelling the story she has relayed, in her voice, about one of these experiences. (Taking a few editorial liberties here and there Cristy, hope you don’t mind.)
The master bedroom has 2 clothes closets. Both are large enough to accommodate a twin bed and both have 10-foot ceilings with 3 layers of hanging space. One of the closets is slightly larger than the other, and since Diane’s collection of clothes and shoes rivals the inventory of the nearest department store, she took that one.
She made it clear from the outset that she required adequate storage space for her shoes and was not averse to hiring a professional closet consulting firm to build out the space. I thought a trip to Lowe’s might be in order on the off-chance that we could defray this expense with a lower cost solution. We found some simple wall-mounted shelving for shoes and purchased enough for about 14 linear feet of storage. She was ecstatic. After I installed it, shoes flew into the closet in mere moments filling up the space. It was an impressive display, if I do say so myself.
Five minutes later, she informed me that the closet was still not up to par. The bars for hanging clothing in the closets are not adjustable and are positioned to accommodate shorter items. She needed more space for longer items. But, she had a recommendation: just remove one of the shelves with its attached hanging bar. Then the one above it would have more clearance at the bottom. Sure, sounded reasonable enough. Anything to avoid that professional build-out.
She said she would get started on it herself. A few minutes later she returned and said that she could not get the shelf to budge. I went to take a look. She had removed the screws that connected the shelf to the mounting bracket, but the shelf was securely affixed to the wall and the supporting ledge with nails and caulk. We would have to dislodge it.
I took a hammer and rapped the lower side of the shelf a few times but, sure enough, it did not move. Diane took the hammer, and with impressive force, whacked the lower side of the shelf a dozen times. I looked on with astonishment. My girlfriend of the gentle and compassionate nature, the one who doesn’t kill insects and is a vegetarian, was hammering the sillystring out of this shelf.
She. Wanted. It. Gone.
With a renewed spirit, we both whaled on the shelf until it finally broke free and we pulled it out of the wall. She didn’t stop there. She moved right to the hanging rod and began pulling and twisting to see if it would dislodge. Together we pulled. Again. Then a budge. Another big tug. Then we noticed we were tearing away the top layer of dry wall. Oops.
She grabbed a hand saw. Plan B. Cut the rod out. Two self-inflicted bleeding wounds later (one for each of us), the closet was perfect.
I’m glad we don’t do this sort of work for a living, we would probably kill ourselves.
When I was younger, perhaps high school age, my mom and I took a shopping trip to the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City. Some of her favorite stores were still there and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Mommy loved the old fashioned stores that had lovely rugs, served tea while you shopped and had huge powder rooms with soft upholstered furniture. After that shopping trip with her, I fell in love with that style of retail shopping experience too.
