writes about clothes, shoes, hair, make-up, accessories, fashion - anything that's appearance-related, and a good deal else, because appearances are just the beginning.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Country Road leads up the garden path
This is the 92% linen, 8% nylon top that caught my eye in Country Road this morning. I loved the hot colours (which aren't at their best in this image), the fine knit, and the length. Tried a couple on, decided on the SX, and handed over my $64.90. Went home well-pleased to have something cheery to wear for Easter.
But oh no, on unwrapping it from its tissue I spotted a hole in the sleeve/bodice seam, where the fabric had given way. Right where it showed.
Since I still had my jacket on, I marched down the path, jumped in the car and drove back to town. Slipped $1 in the meter on Lambton Quay and strode into CR with the offending item.
The woman behind the counter was pleasant. She inspected the hole and went off to see if there was another SX on the rack. There was. And that one had a hole in it too, at the back this time. Pleasant Woman made a phone call to track down any others. There were none.
By now, I wanted the damn thing really badly. I asked if she could knock down the price and I'd have a go at fixing it myself.
No, she couldn't, she said, because she wasn't the manager.
Could the manager then?
No, because CR didn't like to sell imperfect goods.
Excuse me, I didn't say, but you already have.
The two items would have to go to a "tailor", she said. And, still pleasant, went about organising my refund. No apology, though. Which surely ought to be de rigeur when faulty goods are returned. Or is it CR policy to leave quality control to their customers?
So an empty-handed return to the car, to find a $12 ticket under the wiper for an expired meter.
I'm a writer. Sometimes I write fiction and sometimes I'd rather do something else, like earn money, travel or dance tango. Whatever I do, I never stop looking. So this blog is about looking to write, writing to see, and seeing to think. I was once the kind of feminist who believed it was wrong to delight in such things. Now I'm the kind of feminist who doesn't believe that at all. I will never, as Linda Grant puts it, go beige into that good night.