By Elissa Caterfino Mandel

I have a blazer fixation that can, under duress and with enough encouragement, morph into a jacket fixation. Yesterday, I was in a local store that offers coupons, i.e. discounts, every time after I make a purchase. They text me, so I know exactly when my new coupon has vested, if you will. It’s marketing genius.

These coupons are like crack. I don’t mean to belittle drug addiction in any way. But when I know these coupons are available to me, I’m like a homing pigeon heading back to the place where I know my trough is full.

You know you’re in trouble when you walk into a store and the salespeople greet you by name and say, “We missed you last week. How was your vacation?”

So yesterday, one of my best friends and I decided to meet at Willow Street in Summit. We said we were just going to browse. Yeah, right. That’s what I always tell myself before I shop. It’s like when I stand in my pantry for five minutes pretending I’m not going to rip into the bag of dark chocolate that’s there and really meant for baking.  Just browsing is really not in my repertoire.

Yesterday, I carried a sweater with me that I’d purchased online after seeing a photo of Kate Spade wearing something like it on a vacation on Nantucket where I’ve, incidentally, never been. (And undoubtedly never will go if I keep up my shopping habit.) Anyway, the sweater had flowers and multiple colors on it; need I say it is just gorgeous, and I swore I had at least five tee shirts in my closet that would go perfectly with it. Until it was clear I didn’t.

And then in addition to these tee shirts, there was this great pair of pants and this gorgeous, flowing white shirt that is nothing like anything else I own. So of course the idea that I’d just browse was a sad fiction. A little story I told myself to avoid feeling like a profligate.

And here I am a day later, and there is this little jacket I’m still thinking about. I don’t need this jacket. In fact just this week, I just got rid of a surfeit of summer-weight blazers, many of which haven’t seen the sun in three seasons.

This new jacket thing is becoming unhealthy. If you must know, it’s grey with pinstripes, but the bell sleeves on it make it less serious, a little funky. It looked great with one of the tee shirts I bought, which is yellow and has the message “Mellow Yellow” on it in black letters. For 24 hours, obsessing about this stupid jacket, I’ve been anything but mellow.   I don’t know what brand the jacket is, but it’s the perfect length for my relatively long torso and relatively short legs. And it wasn’t over-the- top expensive for a jacket. I should know.

When I spoke to my sister this morning — it’s her birthday — I told her I wanted to buy this jacket for her.  This is not true.  I want to buy this jacket for me.

Growing up, I remember my mother telling me there were colors and styles she wouldn’t wear.  I don’t remember the styles, but the colors olive green and orange come to mind. I have no such restrictions; when it comes to shopping, I’m more free range.  In a chicken, this is a good thing; in a person, not so much.

 

The jacket pictured above is not “the blazer,” but one I found on line by FreePeople.  I like it, too.