Changing rooms are like miraculous, four-walled boxes that can change you from green to black on a mood ring in a second.
I would calculate that about 60 percent of my changing room experiences result in me being hot, stressed, exasperated and wanting to curl up in a huge sweater somewhere with my cat.
However, they're an unfortunate shopping necessity, so what is it that really offends us about them?
Most of the time, I feel like I’m stepping into an upright, mirrored coffin
That’s not great. We’re not asking to fly a kite in here, but maybe just for enough room to stretch our arms to do something basic like actually get into a sweater without smashing a wall every now and again.
Just something to consider. Our bodies will thank you (and your walls will be a little less bashed, too).
Changing room lighting is a game-changer.
In a flick of a switch, we can go from being tanned, honey-skinned goddesses on a Beyoncé level of #flawless, to looking like we’ve stumbled into an interrogation room where we don’t understand why our punishment is harsh, overhead lighting.
We’re not asking for an Instagram filter, just something that doesn’t make us look like a panicked ghost.
Your curtains are lackluster.
More often than not, dressing rooms with curtains simply don't suffice, curling up at the opening and baring my naked body.
If we can see into the room opposite us, someone can sure as hell see into ours. That’s not something that makes us want to be nearly naked with one leg in some jeans.
Your doors are no better.
Rather than reaching the floor, most doors finish three feet from the ground.
There’s something deeply awkward knowing people can watch our feet and legs, seeing just how many times we pivot to look at something from every single angle possible.
And then, when we want to sit on the floor and text to regroup and recover from the ordeal of the trying-on experience, we don’t want people to see that this is what we actually do.
Our feet just want some privacy, okay?
Let’s talk “sizes.”
I’m fed up with looting the rails of every single size and entering the changing room like a sad camel loaded up with cotton.
Stores: Please have a talk about the dimensions you use for standard sizing. I swear, if you all cooperated, shopping would be so much easier.
The post try-on walk of shame is more painful than the morning after.
What even is this? We’ve done nothing wrong; we have used the service for what it is intended for. But shame ripples up us like a wave and makes us feel awful, like we’ve betrayed the store when we hand back something we didn’t like.
It’s okay to have an opinion. Clothes really don’t mind that we felt like a sparkly leopard in that dress. Our eyes do mind. Let’s just hand the stuff over and move on.
At this rate, trying on clothes seems tougher than working out who A is in "PLL."
The Solution: Don't use dressing rooms.
If you don’t like coffee, you wouldn’t choose to order it at Starbucks. So, if you don’t like changing rooms, you probably could get away with shunning them entirely.
Yes, it’s a little more effort to buy a few sizes at once, and it’s a definite effort to engage in the “it just didn’t suit me” conversation on return, but trying stuff on in your own home is a lot nicer than being trapped in the judgment box in-store.
Changing rooms, thank you for making online shopping seem like the most sensible, well-thought-out and practical option out there.
Victoria's Secret, I'll see you at 2 am when I can't sleep and more workout gear is definitely the remedy.