August 9, 2011
As you're probably reading this while navigating the shoe section of Bloomingdales, it should be obvious that the holy grail of all betchy activities is shopping.
Let's be serious, shopping goes deep. It's not just something we do, like
going to our jobs tanning at our pools. It defines us. Going shopping is like, a tri-weekly soul-searching experience. It's the only thing that brings us closer to Zen. Besides Xanax.
Whether you're more of a Saks or Neiman girl, a boutique hunter, or a slave to the trends of Intermix, LF and Top Shop, you’re probably better equipped to maneuver your way to their fitting rooms while blindfolded than you are to find the bathroom of your own fucking house in the middle of the night.
We’re here to justify your shopping addiction. An alcoholic's sponsor would tell him that he doesn't need alcohol. Fuck that. You require shopping.
My closet is already worth hundreds of thousands of dollars? Whatever. I'm feeling a little empty right now.
Not only is shopping therapeutic, but the things we buy are essential in shaping the image we project to other betches. Every betch knows that one of the greatest challenges in wardrobe selection is finding the balance between dressing
for the season like everyone else you know, and showing off her "individuality."
Speaking of wardrobe selection, building the perfect collection each season is necessary and fun. Every betch has her staples: multiple bandage skirts, flowy silk tops in every color, a variety of jeans in all cuts and shades, stilettos for any occasion, and the obvious high-end items - the Hermes belt, the classic Chanel, the daytime Balenciaga, and so on.
Still, even though there are a few tops in your closet that you bought three weeks ago and haven't worn, you like, really need to get another one for tonight.
Shopping is a ritual. It’s a way of life.
It's not just about the clothes or having the best new shoes and handbags, it's the lure of anything and everything that's for sale. Betches get excited when they walk into the beauty section of fucking CVS. Ugh I really need that new Paul Mitchell Conditioning Gel Straightening Volumizing Finishing spray... maybe another Moroccan oil...
And finally we have online shopping. Ugh, where do we begin. It's shopping without doing work. You already had your morning workout so why waste your Adderall on poring through clothes racks when you can sit on your computer and do the same thing? If you’ve found yourself waiting for the package from Nasty Gal, which you charged to your shady "emergency credit card" because you were nervous - not that your parents would see how much you spent - but because your mom would think that your dad’s ordering porn, you are not alone.
Plus, online shopping is great for the discounts, and since sales aren't betchy, no one has to know you actually utilized a sale. Gross. Really though, are you a Gilt Groupe stalker? You should be. Like how can you possibly pass on getting 10% off that gorg Chloe clutch when you only have to spend a minimum of $250 on clothes? What a steal.
So what if you get a speech from your parents bimonthly about how you aren’t fooling anyone by splitting your purchases on three of daddy's credit cards and that your lavish habits are irresponsible and undeserved, or some shit like that.
“You need to know the value of the dollar!”
No Dad, you need to know the value of my white collarless shirt from Fred Segal.
Besides, betches know everything, especially that the value of a dollar might as well be zero. That's exactly why we don't waste our time trying to make any. You know what betches know the value of? A husband.
So remember, you are what you wear and how you dress. Next time your dad flips a shit about the credit card bill, just stay calm and remind him of that thing you learned once in Personal Finance Management 101. You need to spend money to make money. And no man will marry you in last season's Loubs.