Barneys Warehouse Sale…with Mom

Mom was in the city yesterday, and I’d planned on introducing her to Century 21. An hour before we were scheduled to meet, I received the following text:

Barney’s Warehouse Sale starts tomorrow, 50-75% off. Are you game? I wouldn’t possibly consider going into this one without you.

I immediately broke into a cold sweat. But I knew the Barney’s Warehouse Sale was more up Mom’s alley than Century 21. I also knew she’d be footing the bill.

When I met her inside, she’d already accumulated an armful of goodies. She seemed immune to the throngs of half-naked women trying things on, and meandered through the racks with experienced grace. Inspired by her courage under fire, I put on my game face and started filling a massive plastic trashbag of my own with designer-discount fare. It wasn’t until we were ready to try our things on that things went awry.

Mom: Umm, problem.

Me: What?

Mom: I’m not wearing a bra.

Me: You didn’t wear a BRA to the Barney’s Warehouse Sale?!!

Mom: Well, I didn’t know there wouldn’t be dressing rooms. Here, hold this.

So there we were: Me, holding up a $1000 Lanvin coat to cover my Mom so she didn’t expose herself whilst trying on Diane von Furstenberg frocks. Tension heightened when a Eurotrashy Metro – clad in ridiculous sunglasses and clamdiggers – moved in on my mother’s claims.

Mom: Those are mine. Please do not touch them.

Eurotrashy Metro: (in thick Italian accent) Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see your name on them.

Mom: Well, I found them first. And I am trying them on. Please move away.

Now, I know “please” implies politeness; this is not the case here. The subtext of this “please” was “Get the fuck away from me and my potential buys you pervy European creep. Now.” My mother then proceeded to glare at the Metro until he backed away with his tail between his legs.

We eventually emerged triumphant – Mom because she’d found a ton o’ things, me because I’d successfully talked her out of a $500 pair of Manolo Blahnik ponyhair-soled sandals (“What, they were originally $1000!” was Mom’s counterpoint…you can thank me later Dad). I found some fab stuff too, obvs (stay tuned). But the best part of this taxing shopping experience wasn’t the free clothes. It was seeing my Mom stay cool under pressure and watching her take her sweet ol’ time until she found exactly what she wanted (aside from the shoes, which she was still pining for as we waited in the checkout line).

So, thank you Mom, for showing me that even when you find yourself enveloped by a chaos unique to fashion-obsessed, crazed New York women, you can always create your own Zen. And thanks for the clothes too