I heard the low rumble of the Frenchman’s voice seconds after I peeled off my shirt.
What the heck? I was in a woman’s fitting room. What was a man doing on the other side of the curtain?
The change room was the same size as an airplane washroom, putting me in very close proximity to this stranger, while also reaffirming that males still dominate the world of retail architecture.
I snapped my shirt back on and left, getting a friendly smile from the Frenchman on my way out.
In North America, a few women drag their guys into fitting rooms. What is wrong with these women? Can they not make a simple clothing purchase without a man in tow?
Maybe their guys are accessories and the women want to see if they color-coordinate properly before making a commitment to either the outfit or the man? I don’t know, but I do know the practice is more popular here in Switzerland.
I’m still learning the local standards of fitting room etiquette, which so far has appeared in a sideshow-like manner, with the women being the show and the guys cheering from the side.
Yesterday, a 60-ish woman in her underwear flitted in and out of her fitting room into the adjacent hallway, chatting with her husband. She had not yet tried on any new clothes. Puzzling.
The hallway ended before her fitting room and angled onto a window over a street, giving everyone in the store and on the sidewalk a fine view, so to speak, but no crowds massed. As I said, she was over 60.
Some extol the relaxed attitude other cultures have toward women in various stages of undress, as though this is evidence that these cultures do not over-sexualize the female form.
Those people should have been in a clothing store one block over two weeks ago when a new shipment of swimwear came in. Wide-eyed men with tongues hanging out exchanged approving glances as women trekked into the fitting rooms with bikinis tucked under their arms. These particular change rooms have doors, but the doors happen to have windows that are set at such an angle that presents a wealth of ogling opportunity for any guy standing over five-feet six-inches tall.
I settled in to watch the guys watching the girls. It was fascinating, like watching sharks circle. A few men were allowed into this inner sanctum with their girlfriends, grinning all the way.
Then, as another slender attractive young woman walked into the fitting room area with her man at heel, another man slipped into their jet-stream. Seconds later, there was a commotion and the second male scooted out of the area, red-faced, wide-eyed and very happy. The other oglers restrained themselves from high-fiving the offending interloper.
In other more innocent revelations in the next shop over, a four-year-old girl made her way down a bank of fitting rooms, ripping aside curtains as she went, announcing, “Hello, I’m Lily!” exposing a half-dozen clients, all while her mother cooed over her daughter’s adorability. No one seemed terribly upset.
I don’t get it.
Postscript: Since writing the above, I visited a few women’s clothing stores in France where I discovered the number of men in the fitting rooms was equal to the number of women. One young woman left the curtain pulled aside so her young man, seated across the hall, could offer his opinions and record her dressing and disrobing on his iPhone. Their matter-of-factness, along with the lack of attention this drew from the other shoppers and their male companions suggests this is business-as-usual.
Postscript the second: This post is being re-published. It is one of my most often-hit posts. I would like to think it is because my writing is clever, but more likely it is because it includes women in various stages of undress.
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