Retail Therapy Season.

May 2018

How do you use the word? Do you even use the word? Hang on, I need to dump the equivalent of my bank account down on the floor, my arms are killing me. Why haven’t I got muscles the size of gym junkies, shopping is heavy. 

In my (very limited and bias experience) its a phrase thrown around by many. Be it drought-striken farmers after a new Case tractor, the new Mum next door in the city pretending she isn’t constantly accessorised by puke after a new frock, or somewhere in between – perhaps you yourself. 

For me, I get it. I don’t even understand the logic behind why its such a successful therapy for many – myself included. Its mid-season, and you realise you only have 1 knit jumper and one very sad coat and zero clue how you got by last winter. The biggest mystery of my life how I lose clothes year-to-year. 

By the end of the 5-hour-stint in Westfield, you look like a disaster (no really, i’m sorry hun, but that mascara is smeared almost as far as the fuzz of your hair reaches). You’re sweaty from optimistically trying on too many clothes a size too small, your forearms are indented with evidence of the bags of purchases filled with magic and sparkle*, your mouth is parched as you haven’t touched water since before leaving the house that morning, and you’re not sure when you last went to the loo but you’re about to be incontinent. You don’t quite remember what level you parked on, but you know you have to go back through Myers on the way out, and even though you’ve got the weight of Africa balanced over one arm, you’re going to keep your eyes peeled. You stretch your ankle in the canvas shoes you wore, and question why you didn’t wear workout wear and runners, this is practically a sport. 

Okay, okay, getting a little carried away. I was 2 escalator steps away from falling into a sparkly shopping stupor. But oh… that denim jacket! 


I think i’ve made my point – shopping is my therapy. About as healthy as an addiction. #sendhelp. 

I need to go back to paying for things directly with my job. That Bardot jacket? Well Candice, you’re gonna have to wipe 2 x 80 year old backsides, hang 1 x IV antibiotic, chase 2 interns for medication orders, and argue with Old Mate for 4.5 minutes. No Old Mate, you didn’t shower yesterday, I was here yesterday (#werkwerkwerk) and had the same argument with you. You smell rank. Lets go. 

But maybe if it would cost me that amount of nursing shenanigans, I’d have a more sensible less sparkly wardrobe, and I could think about investing in property.** But for now, glitter and sparkles are fun. Sorry Dad.

Very little has changed since last time ya’ll heard from me. I’m still defending my Tumeric&Matcha cuppas more than I ought to, with my heart still firmly in the country. 

What has changed? I’m even more independent. Studios are the greatest. Get one, in your backyard, somewhere. Its like a grown ups cubby house. My fridge is 2m from the bed end and I don’t even mind. Its 3-4 steps to the kettle from getting out of bed, depending which tea I reach for. I’ve gone from an unsupervised toddler in Coles, to one in Toys R Us. For those wondering, no, I have no responsible male adult which is fabulous and dangerous all at once. I have an income so I have free reign and no ones gonna question me. I either eat nothing, or everything. There’s no in-between. I either get inspired and cook like Nonna would that would feed the entire town, or decide i’m not hungry and thats that. You see, a significant other keeps you accountable, well, kept me accountable. I love food, but food on my own is a boring exercise. Cups of tea though? You should see my shelf, put move a tin out of perfect alignment and I will rage. 

Mum came to visit recently.

“Candice, you’ve become that pretentious person you always spoke of! Look at you!”

…as she admired the high ceilings and other fang-dangle finishes I hadn’t noticed till she pointed them out. Mum, please, just let me enjoy my cubby house.


Shopping. Retail therapy. Why is it dangerous? In summary, i’m a single woman with an income in a big city. No housemates to dodge on the way in as I awkwardly carry all the bags on one arm as I fall through the door. 

But WHY. Why is shopping so therapeutic? I’m sure theres umpteen articles on this, and i’ve purposely not read a single one in preparation. Along with my bank balance, another thing I haven’t read. 

I find something freeing about shopping. Even if i’m not purchasing anything, just walking in and out of bright shops, touching the fabrics, moving things around (probably shopkeepers worst nightmare haaa sorry guys) or creeping on fellow shoppers and watching their experience.***

I definitely over indulge since being single. Heck, my shopping experience has evolved. A few weeks ago, I had a missed call from Mum, “Just getting my brows/lashes done, then I gotta get a pedi. Talk later.” I flicked to her via message. WHAT. HA. Who even am I. I do these things like its almost a chore. I took the whole date yourself from last blog way too far.****

Point is, its a season. Will I always be single and have this opportunity to eat chocolate for dinner and get guilt free pampering? Well, I hope not. But i’ve gotten alarmingly accustomed. 

Do I miss living on a farm, rocking a workshirt all of the time and having the simple things in life? Absolutely. Home sick is real friends. 

But in the meantime, its time for a Blue Mountains T2 and admire this seasons fashion thats found its way into my wardrobe. 

*Items you didn’t know you needed in your life until you saw them. Suddenly you can’t live without that French Connection trench coat. You’re unsure how you’ve gotten this far in life without one, really. 

**Out of Sydney. Don’t even get me started on the house prices here in Sydney wOt. I could work my not-so-royal behind off my entire life and live in nothing more than a 1 bedder in the outer suburbs. Move to Sydney, do the thang where you get autonomy and chocolate for dinner, but don’t move here to buy. You’ll be eating noodles until you die.

***I love it. Its something very odd that I probably shouldn’t admit to – creeping on others. But its so interesting! What are they wearing? Eating? Glad thats not my kid chucking a tanty in the middle of Myers, and just generally watching others interact. Without malicious intent, I simply find it so intriguing.

****No really, get your eyebrows threaded/tinted and lashes tinted. All at once. Its hectic and you’ll freak yourself out for the next day or so when you see your reflection. The next morning its 5:25am and I’m barely awake and see my reflection as I innocently go to brush my teeth. It’ll replace coffee as it freaks you out. But do it, its the most extra thing i’ve made a habit. 


Pictured is the night I got my face all did with the threading and tinting. Post shower. No make up, feeling very outrageous and extra, and slightly terrified to front up to work the next day.

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