While most aspects of French culture strike me as very reasonable and efficient, one does not: les soldes.
In the United States, sales and promotions run throughout the year—they are unexciting, expected, and usually unhelpful. Yes, you will occasionally find that perfect skirt on mark-down at J. Crew, but it is more likely you will buy it at full price, knowing that only 30% off isn't worth the wait when in a month the only size left will be XL.
In France, however, there are two gargantuan, countrywide sales that happen every year: les soldes d’hiver in January/Febuary and the soldes d’été in June/July. Every store everywhere, whether it sells clothing, household appliances, or magic trick supplies (yes, these do exist, I saw one today), puts tout on sale. And as French clothing is exciting to own and is generally longer than anything sold in the US, I jumped at the chance to buy these expensive rarities ON SALE.
Heading out on Wednesday afternoon, I remember why I shop online. The summer soldes, while fantastic in theory, are a little nauseating in reality. I make it through one block and two shoe stores before claustrophobia overwhelms me and I’m sweaty from trying on twenty pairs of jeans that I knew looked too short. I cower in a corner, trying to pull myself together and picking through belts I don’t really like—it’s times like these I realize I would never survive in the jungle.
Further complications arose with the arrival of an afternoon thunderstorm—the sky opened and it was not euros that fell (like I had hoped) but sheets of drenching rain. Now I not only had purses and shopping bags to contend with, but wet umbrellas as well. Store floors became roller derby rinks as determined French women slipped and fought their way towards the cash registers.
Despite the rain and the crowds, I must admit that my shopping expedition was both successful and surprisingly educational. I am now quite knowledgeable about dressing room vocabulary and can make excuses to salespeople (and myself) about why those perfect leather sandals just won’t work today.
And I realized something—while I love clothing and fashion, I am not a shopper. Indoor malls make me want to kick and scream. I dread carrying around that armful of clothing because the hangers ALWAYS fall off or get stuck on cable-knit sweaters or other people’s purses. I hate waiting for a dressing room for 20 minutes, only to find that everything I love is too short or too big or designed by monkeys with no knowledge of the human form.
So yes, I like that dress in the window. But as I stand there considering its high waist that will hit me somewhere around the collarbone and the fact that its excellent reduced price is cancelled out by the exchange rate, I decide it is not even worth a visit to the cabine d'essayage. Luckily, I eventually realize these sales do last more than a day and with Lyon being a city of considerable size and style, there are more than enough stores to go around. Chic will have to wait until another day.