It was a pair of $8 socks from Urban Outfitters that changed everything. My feet were aching after walking the mall with my friends, no parents in sight, so I swapped my no-shows for some navy and red striped crew socks. Such a simple moment of independence, such a euphoric feeling, the first time you experience free will and all. So I bought a $5 tube of cherry lipstick. It was sticky, added no color to my lips, and it was applied in the smudged mirror of a Caire’s. But those weren’t just purchases, they were a rite of passage.
Almost 10 years later, and I still shop at Urban Outfitters. Only now, Claire’s has been swapped for Sephora, and the purchases come straight from my paycheck, not my parents’ wallet. Yet, this is about more than just buying products, it’s also about achieving emotional stability. Retail therapy? Sure. You could call it that. Or maybe it’s just growing up.
The Mall or The Mirror
There are people in their lives who find comfort on a stage or a field. But if you were chronically online and practically raised on Tumblr fashion and YouTube hauls, the mall was your arena. It wasn’t just a place to shop, it was like a stomping ground.
The mall was the natural evolution of the playground. Same laughter, same sense of possibility, only inside of a Forever 21 fitting room. We tried on identities like leather jackets, learning what stuck… and what didn’t. We admired the older girls who could afford TopShop, pretending not to care that we were stuck in Charlotte Rouse. Some of us gravitated towards grunge band tees, while others were allured by glittery accessories. Either way, we were trying to find our identity.
During those transformative years, when you have no idea who you are or who you’re going to be, style becomes a strategy. You dress the version of yourself you want to grow into, even if it gives your mother a migraine. The perfect outfit isn’t just about the fabric, or the fit, or where it’s from. It’s about control in a time of chaos. It’s one of the only things you get to choose when everything else feels uncertain.
But there is a fine line between coming of age and over-consuming. From a young age, people, especially girls, are taught to see self-worth through items they can buy. Our identities can get lost in the shopping bags. And in a world where appearances can speak louder than personality, it makes sense. We’re told to invest in ourselves, but what happens when that investment feels more like a performance than empowerment?
I mean, I’m sure we can all think of a time we participated in a trend that we didn’t even like for the sake of blending in. For me, it was pastels, crop-tops, and anything with a taco on it. It wasn’t until I stopped hiding behind clothes that didn’t match who I really was that I started shopping differently. With more intention. With more rebellion. I allowed myself to become selective with my style, which translated into my identity.
Heartbreak and Healing
But things change as you grow, because sometimes, fashion isn’t about identity at all. It’s about survival. I’ve done the post-break-up, the “in my feels,” and the “I’ve worked really hard this week, so I deserve it,” shopping spree before. Bought a new wardrobe to match the “new me.” I’ve walked into stores ripped in half and walked out with shiny new items, hoping it would make me whole again. During those times, clothes aren’t just a necessity, they’re a lifeline. Power. A coping mechanism disguised as a pair of jeans.
But with the mood swings of being a maturing woman, this way of coping is not sustainable and has reached its shelf life. Over time, shopping has switched from escapism to expression. Like trading the thrill of fast-fashion for the ritual of thrifting. Where you buy fewer things, better things, things that are more authentic to you.
Here is where you can mirror the true person you have become, not the person you are trying to convince people you are.
What to Keep
There’s still pressure, of course. The emotional weight of having to create the “perfect outfit” is still heavy; it’s just gotten a slight makeover. These days, my favorite pieces aren’t about fitting in. But they’re meaningful. Like the brown leather bomber jacket that was my father’s, or the worn Levi’s jeans that fit like a hug. They feel like me, even though I still have a hard time resisting a clearance rack or donating one of my three black tank tops.
So is it retail therapy? Or is it a coming-of-age story disguised as consumerism? Maybe, it’s both. Maybe growing up costs more than we expected.
All I know is those $8 socks and cherry lip gloss are long gone. And the emotional damage of spending half my paycheck on a dress I only wore once? Well, that’s still fresh, but I will laugh it off soon. Hopefully.
But if growing up means learning to dress for yourself, then maybe retail therapy did work. Just with a strict 30-day return policy, and make sure you have the receipt.
Still cheaper than actual therapy. Probably.