As I walk down Canterbury high street I see a women gazing into
the detailed display in the New Look window. As I walk past I can help but
wonder what she think as she stares at the mannequins in the window.
She stares at the supposed fashion in the window and wonders
why the styles that people are calling fashion don't appeal to her. She stands,
in her hand made or charity shop clothes that she has sought out and found to
complete her style. Her look. She loves clothes and has always wanted to work
in the industry. She wants to create a fashion line for people like her who
don't like the trends and rely on their own style to show who they really are. She
wonders why the shops all seem to sell variations of the same products. All she
sees in shop windows is repetition.
She stares into the shop window. She wishes she could afford
the clothes in the window. How she longs to have new clothes, new shoes, new
anything. She wishes she had the money
to spend on the beautiful things in the window but the cost of the clothes
could cover the family bills. She shakes her head to herself she doesn't need
this stuff she only thinks she does. Or at least that's what she tries convince
herself.
She stares into the shop window. Not at the clothes in the
window but the people inside the shop. The friends shopping together, having
fun, picking out clothes together. She wishes she had friends that where close
like this. The ones she has only seem to be around when they need her. She
stares in the window wondering whether she'll ever have friends like that. The
giggling, the laughing, the teasing all make her bubble with envy and want. She
craves the relationship and the feeling of people being there.
She stares into the shop window. She doesn't see the hype with
the cheaper brand shops. She doesn't see the point of the brand that everyone
has something from. She finds comfort in the labels and brands that she owns.
The bills don't seem to worry or concern her, she likes the attention that
these bring to her, people asking about the style, the shop, the price. She
likes the prestige and glamour that they give her. The brands have become part
of her life and personality and stood here staring into this high street shop
window she cannot see herself without these brands or labels, it would be like
a part of her was missing.
She stares into the shop window. She stares at the mannequin wishing
she could look like them. No she doesn't think she's fat but maybe if she
slimmed down more she'd be more comfortable with herself and other people. She
looks at the mannequin and how the clothes always seem to look better on them.
Maybe if she was like them then her clothes would fit a little better or she wouldn't
have to be between sizes. She sees the campaigns of Facebook for the "plus
size models" but it still seems like the world idolizes the ones who are
slightly smaller. The ones who have slimmer legs. The ones that are plastered
on every billboard and poster in every shop. The ones that appear flawless.
Then she looks are the world around her and tries to remember that they are
just plastic.
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