Page 11 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Where do we start?’ I ask, looking at my makeover tutors. Personally, I’d like to start at Magnolia Bakery but something tells me that won’t be the answer.

Dee and Shernette look at each other, then at me. ‘Casual wear,’ they say in unison.

I follow behind them – Shernette in a bright, floral shift dress, Dee wearing a Bohemian-style romper – feeling sad for my comfy dungarees.

As we ride the escalator, Dee tells me, ‘We’re booked for facials and make-up in two hours, so we need to get a move on.’

Two hours? Urgh.

New me. New me. New me. Must channel new me.

I will be glamorous, desirable and someone with a fabulous job; in fact, any job would be an improvement currently. A woman befitting of Blake House.

Deciding to see our climbing the escalator as a metaphor for rising to the new, aspirational me, I thrust my shoulders back and step off the moving steps into a Ralph Lauren concession.

After baulking at the price tags of the first three items I pick up, I realize I’m going to have to be led by the clothes and not the price tag if I’m going to make any headway.

I have two pairs of smart pants hanging over my left arm and with my right, I am holding up a blue tailored shirt, when Shernette appears over my shoulder.

‘Too safe, too safe and too safe.’ She takes the items from me and hangs them on the rail in front of us. ‘These are just fancier versions of the things you’ve always worn to work.’

She waggles a mini tweed skirt and jacket combo at me – pink and lime green! ‘Thisis your new work wardrobe.’

‘Riiiiight, for that unemployment line.’ I finger the outfit. The material does feel expensive, I’ll give her that.

Leaning her head to one side, she smiles. ‘For the fabulous job you’re going to get, when you decide whatever it is that you’re passionate about.’

‘Oddly, I was, Iampassionate about numbers, analytics tools, innovative forensic software, the business world. But clearly, I’m not very good at those things, evidenced by the fact I no longer have a job in the field.’

‘You need to start seeing being fired as being liberated,’ Shernette says. ‘The world is your oyster. Your checklist will be fulfilled in no time. Or at least within six months, otherwise you’ll be unemployed, homeless and single. And this little number is going to help you shuck the shell. Go try it on!’

She holds out the hangers until I take them from her and make for the nearest fitting rooms.

‘Technically, I quit,’ I call back. But maybe she’s right. I needto view this forced break as an opportunity to make a change. I’m just not sure to what.

‘Abs, it’s me,’ Dee says over the stable-style door. Inside the cubicle, I’m still admiring myself in the tweed two-piece. I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything so fancy. ‘What exactly is our budget today?’

‘Absolute max, I have eight hundred dollars for my entire Blake House wardrobe.’ Prior to trying on the pink and green suit, I would have said $500. Shernette’s first pick has softened me a smidge.

After splurging on six months’ rent, I divided the rest of my savings between socializing (which I do little of) and bills, leaving some leftover for clothes shopping. Essentially, the splurge on a new wardrobe is the difference between me needing to find work soon and yesterday.

Dee dangles a pair of Capri pants in royal blue over the dressing room door. I take the bait, then she hands me a silk, ivory-colored vest, which I also take.

‘Have you heard of a capsule wardrobe?’ she asks.

By the time we leave Bloomingdale’s, almost my entire shopping balance has been depleted and I have the core ingredients of what Dee describes to me as a capsule wardrobe – a small collection of clothes that I can mix and match to make a heap of different outfits, something to suit every occasion.

‘I can’t believe I let you guys convince me to spend so much money on clothes,’ I say as we head down Fifth Avenue, makingour way idly in the direction of Macy’s on 35th Street. I stifle a yawn, again.

‘And color!’ Shernette says. ‘Hello World, this is Abbey Mitchell, bold, bright and about to embark on the best years of her life!’

I’m loathe to admit that I do feel taller, cheerier somehow, wearing the shorts and blazer combo the girls encouraged me to leave the store in once I had settled my insanely large check.

‘Plus, you can’t always wear T-shirts and jeans from Gap,’ Dee adds.

Shaking off the insult, I see a café up ahead. I tell the girls I need coffee.

‘I agree,’ Shernette says. ‘You’ve been yawning all morning. At first, I thought it was sheer boredom, but I’m starting to think it’s not that. I saw you checking yourself out in that outfit – rightly so, since you look a million dollars in it.’

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