For those of us who take pride in our shopping, who treat shopping as an art form, an enchanting enterprise, and a way of life, Black Friday has always felt like amateur hour – the same way Halloween feels like childish fun and games for those of us who get gussied and dolled up on the regular.
Fighting with crushing throngs of shoppers hell-bent on finding a bargain, who are there partly for the participatory thrill of the day (because you can get these deals online without even leaving the house) has never appealing to the shopping aficionado I pride myself on being. When I’m shopping I like to take my time and leisurely stroll about a store’s space, to take in the meticulously-curated displays, to entirely inhabit the moment and the surroundings. Shopping as an act of meditative meandering.
For a true shopper, the art of shopping is not solely a means to a transactional end – some of my favorite shopping expeditions haven’t even yielded a bag of purchases. The art of shopping is, for me, more about the entire experience – a philosophical treatise on imagination and possibility, on the idea of what we might be – with the right outfit, the right fragrance, the right accessory. The art of shopping dangles the notion of perfection before us, and I remain powerless to its pull, no matter how impossible I know it to be.
