Pompoms, Poodles And Paint ~ The Psychology Of Shopping.

I had had a success with mixing a dark slate grey paint colour for the bathroom so I was feeling confident about mixing a colour for my Blanche Devereaux Golden Girls bedroom. I had seesawed back and forward between colours for nearly two years. It was going to be yellow, then orange, then blush pink, then navy blue, then coral, bought the coral, looked wrong, kept side-eyeing my navy blue double pompom curtain tie backs and committed. 

Navy blue double pompom curtain tie-back.

I thought I was ahead of the game and winning at life, as I already had a full can of cobalt blue paint that I had bought and immediately hated, and had the full can of black from mixing the slate grey for the tiniest bathroom in the world. Turns out you can’t make dark blue by mixing light blue with black. Or more specifically, pedantically and perfectionistically, you can’t make Pompom Navy Blue by mixing bright blue and black. Several years ago I had a similar realisation that there is more to frozen yoghurt than freezing yoghurt. Anyway, seven goes later and a quick google says you need purple. I’ve actually also got a full can of purple if you don’t mind, but I’ve lost interest now. 

Colour testing my patience.

Some time (days) later. I went out to buy navy blue paint and nipped in for a nicknack snack from the nest of local charity shops en route. Nowhere near route. For some reason, contrary to the gloomy time of year, I’m feeling extremely buoyant and optimistic. 

On my first hop into the place where I usually get my vintage brooches I find a rich seem of vulgar costume rings in two ornamental ring display stiletto shoes. They were all too small for me, which isn’t unusual as I’ve got goal keeper’s hands and Victorian East End boxer’s knuckles, but bought three anyway in the hope that somehow they’ll fit in the future.

Second skip into the place where I buy a lot of vintage secretary blouses and I spy a stunning pair of knee length tan suede boots on the top shelf. That moment of sweet anticipation was short lived by turning them round and round and realising there was no zip. That would explain why they were unworn and in the charity shop. They might fit my new life-size stork ornaments, but I am a human, perfectly proportioned with footballers legs to go with my goalies hands. 

It reminded me of the time I was living in New York and found a backstreet flea market junk shop in the last remaining ungentrified corner of Brooklyn. It was a vast warehouse size junk shop and not particularly cheap. On the back wall was a shabby set of shelves with mostly shabby shoes and shit, but glowing in the distance was the most incredible pair of boots. They were the softest leather, perfect Cuban heels and covered in exquisite decoration. They looked like a $2000 pair of boots. They were $20. They didn’t have zips, they can’t possibly fit. I held my breath and pulled one on. It slipped on like Cinderella, I thought New York, you are the concrete jungle where dreams are made of. My size. My life. My god. I’d never felt such comfort. It felt like it would carry you there instead of traipsing. I’ll take them and be happy for ever more. I’ll just try the other one on to make sure. Unless I’ve got one stork and one chicken leg these boots weren’t meant for walking. I couldn’t even pull the bloody thing much past my ankle. I must have pulled and rolled around on the floor, sweating and heaving for about twenty minutes before I looked up and saw three big old lumpy nuyoiker men watching the show. The biggest lump said “Hey lady, you must really want those boots”. I said “Sir, what cruelty is this? You make me feel like Cinderella with one leg and an Ugly Sister with the other. Why do you hate me so?”. They laughed and loved me.  

Last jump was into Roy Castle and I almost left empty handed until I spotted a tiny ceramic poodle with a misspent nose. If I had been on quality control in the cheap china factory that day I would have chucked it in the ‘misdiagnosed’ reject box. 

Vintage china poodle.

I know the lovely lady in there and when I took it to the counter I asked: “When you put this out did you think who on Earth is going to buy it, or did you think of me?” She said sometimes she put things out and knows who will like it and wonder when they’ll come in. 

I love that aspect of retail. The bit of the business model they can’t teach. The magic bit. It reminded me of when I had my spice stall in Borough Market in London and after years you’d develop a sense of what people wanted before they asked, just by watching them walk towards you. Occasionally I’d entertain myself by waiting for them to open their mouth and then say what they wanted just before they did. “Ground cumin” - spook them, followed by “cardamom pods” - freak them out, then stare deep into their childhood and say softly and slowly “fenugreek leaves”. They’d have a break down and think you’re a witch. 

Nosey poodle and I went home without the navy paint, which worked out well in the end as we mixed the perfect shade of black-blue to match exactly the darkest part of the palm leaves on my Golden Girls wallpaper. It’s very on trend and it is definitely not green. I was hoping I could teach Begonia to paint edges, but it turns out she can’t be trusted with the big ladders.

Dark walls and bright eyes.

Hong Kong flowers caught in a moment against my new not navy walls.