Breakfast: Omelette with spinach, onions, goat cheese and chicken apple sausage.

I spent the entire day Friday shopping. It really was like a job. I know you are thinking: Yeah, right. I want her job. I really am my own stylist and truthfully, I’m an extremely demanding client. I have designer taste without matching finances. (Where is my trust fund? I even know upper middle class kids with trust funds. My parents are too selfish: read father.)

I am not into what fashion magazines call, “Designer Looks for Less.” I can almost always pick out the designer look; it’s all in the details. The looks-for-less either look like they’re trying too hard or are too trashy. Also, cheap prints look cheap next to the designer ones. The cheap ones are always larger and have less detail.

I’m looking for a top I can wear for a holiday party/birthday party or holiday party/New Years. I have a pair of great-fitting black Mayle pants that I didn’t pay retail for. I figured I could get a nice top and come up with a festive ensemble.

First I went to Loehmann’s. Those stores scare me, except Loehman’s is the top tier in the Marshalls/Ross genre. I don’t like crowds and racks and racks of unstylish clothes, but I’ve gotten over my fear a little.

Who wants to spend at least an hour digging through mostly ugly clothes to find a so-so item that looks breathtaking next to all the ugly stuff? Back at home you realize how plain it is and then have to go back to the nasty store again to return it...

I only shop in the Back Room (their caps) at Loehmann’s where the top designer clothes are. I haven’t been there in months, and now the back room looks like the front room. I managed to scrounge up a Voyage asymmetrical top. It was black, one side had a sleeve and the other was strapless. Voyage has a lot of rock star clientele, because most of their clothes are quite whimsical. I also managed to find a nude sleeveless cashmere top and a black wool one.

In the dressing room, I whipped off my bra to try on the Voyage piece. It took me five minutes to get it on. This began the theme for the day. I tried to put it over my head and it didn’t want to go. Then I tried pulling it up my pants. Don’t ask me why I thought that would work. Finally I decided I’d get it over my head. It was made to be worn, so I had to get it on. I don’t have an abnormally large head. With sheer determination I pulled and shimmied with all my strength. I got it on, and it didn’t do anything for me.

Now I’d have to get it off. I pretended I needed to check it out in the three-way mirror, while saving up my strength. If something is hard to put on, it’s harder to take off--one of the great laws of fashion. I smooched my way out of it and next struggled with the mock turtleneck tops. And, no, I didn’t buy anything.

I skipped a quarter of a mile to the Beverly Center. I had gotten out of clothes jail.

Next I tried some stuff on at Shaya where they have a minimalist approach to clothing displays. My eyes were re-adjusting to a nice aesthetic environment. I tried on a tank top that was on sale for eighteen bucks and a gold Theory dressy top.

The Asian sales chic came in while I was braless and started conversing with me about my items. Then she tied the flimsy fabric dressing room door halfway back. Hello, I was a real customer. She was acting like I was completely un modest, which I am, but that’s quite an assumption. Now I was feeling like I was back in the Loehmann’s communal dressing room.

I was excited to go into Max and Company, the cheaper line of Max Mara. Except they were a little too minimal with their clothing items and there were three bored salespeople in a tiny store. I nixed trying on one cute dress.

In Club Monaco I found the perfect black sequin strapless top. If only I could shrink my head and shoulders. I was afraid I was ruining the top while I was putting it on. (At least I had taken my bra off right away that time.)

Only one sequin popped off, but I was concerned I was stretching it out. It was perfect; except it was already giving me anxiety and I didn’t even own it yet. If even one sequin fell off, I’d consider it ruined and banish it to closet purgatory. I tried on a black sequin tank top with larger and flatter sequins. It looked too conservative and I’d still be worried about the sequins falling off.

The saleslady at Club Monaco made me use the men’s dressing rooms.

“We don’t use the woman’s because they are so far away and hard to monitor.”

Wait, wasn’t that part of her job?

I said goodbye to Club Monaco and meticulously browsed through Bloomingdales and Macy’s. Then it was time to leave so I wouldn’t hit Friday traffic.

Tiffany, the stylist, was exhausted from her day. She was going to go home, run a bath, read fashion magazines and throw darts at Tiffany, the client.

BTW: If some of this designer stuff went over your head; just watch “Fashiontrance” on the Style Channel at 11PM Pacific Time.