I hate crowds, I hate shopping, I really didn’t want to be anywhere that might lead to being elbowed in the kidney, and most perfume gives me a headache. So it makes perfect sense that I went to the District Sample Sale last night. I was extremely well-behaved, I mostly bought presents for other people.*
Mostly, I was there because it was a good cause, but a small part of me was there as an anthropologist, and my-oh-my was it an entertaining evening.
I admit I’m a big coward, so I only stayed downstairs during the VIP hour, when there were only 100 or so other shoppers milling around and the only major obstacle was the caterers who seemed determined to make sure no one starved. Some of my friends were fasting because it’s Ramadan, and sunset wasn’t for hours. They were being tortured by the fab food and the free-flowing champaign. Because we’re post-ironic, they helped me pick out some Chanukah gifts for the in-laws.
When the doors opened to the public I grabbed a glass of champaign and scurried upstairs to chat with the Development Director from the DC Rape Crisis Center, the main beneficiaries of the night’s proceeds. I observed the mayhem for another 30 minutes from a safe perch, and then I fled, because it had gotten kinda scary.
I noticed that the clothes – at least the items that appealed to me – were generally either extra small or too large. Physically too large or too small, that is. Being designer items, a size L or XL could easily equal a Target size 4 or 6, so I don’t mean the size labels themselves were an indicator of the actual range of sizes represented.
At one point a woman asked her friends if they wanted to grab some food, and the other women recoiled from all that carb-tastic goodness as if she’d suggested they shoot lighter fluid into their eyeballs. It reminded me of the exchange from the Devil Wears Prada:
That didn’t stop the line for tasty Georgetown Cupcakes from snaking down the hall later, however.
And on that note, let me direct you to DC Damsel, who has a terrificly interesting post up about the way her experience at the sale made her think about her body image now and her recovery from eating disorders.
Now, back to the less serious note that this post (which was intended to be one sentence) started out with. When I started pawing through the bulging swag bag, I pulled out an assortment of Graham Webb cosmetics. I happened to read the fine print on the box, and was fascinated with the warning label:
Caution: For external use only. Keep out of eyes. Discontinue use if signs of irritation appear. Not for infants under 6 months.
What on earth has someone done with this product in the past that their lawyers feel a disclaimer with this level of specificity is in order?
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*Okay, I admit it. I’ve already fallen in love with, washed and worn the shirt I allegedly bought for my mom. But still, the other items? Definitely gifts. The seriously hot Benedikte Utzon dress I scored for 30 bucks? That remains mine, all mine.