The Woes of a Big Foot

Every female knows that one of the best ways to learn about a culture is through local shopping rituals. Perhaps, if you are male you should just stop reading here. I have learned a few things about the English from my short time here already and I am prepared to give you a full account of my shopping adventures (or should that be misadventures?!).

1. Big Foot
As I had always suspected, I am a big foot. Mum assured me that when I came to England I would have no trouble finding shoes for my size eleven feet. She reasoned (and quite reasonably I should add) that with a population so much bigger than New Zealand’s there must be thousands of women with the same problem as me, and therefore a real market for big shoes. Yes, well I can tell you that if this is the case, there is a huge market opening. The largest size they stock in stores is an eight, sometimes a nine. I asked a shop assistant yesterday if I could try a certain pair of shoes in a size nine or ten (I understand that your shoe size here is one size smaller than in NZ – so I should be a ten). She looked at me with disdain and snarled, “we don’t stock nines here – eight is the biggest we have. Now take your monster feet somewhere else.” (OK, she may not have said the last bit, but she may as well have!!! I have considered just wrapping my feet in plastic bags, but I have a feeling they might look even bigger.

2. The psychological size barrier
Every woman has a particular size that they have an issue with wearing. It is their own personal ‘fat’ indicator, what I have termed the psychological size barrier (or PSB for short). I have one of my own (not disclosing actual size), one that I must admit, after some serious eating and laziness before leaving NZ, I was very close to purchasing. Women go to great lengths to avoid their size demon. For example, you may shop at a store that sells relatively big sizes, so your label still says 12 even though in most stores it is actually a 14. Other tactics employed include purchasing flowing shirts etc instead of figure-hugging or tailored shirts, or buying skirts with elasticised waist bands. When I’m feeling dangerously near the size barrier I buy slouch jeans instead of bootcuts, you get my drift. So, as I indicated, I was on the edge of my own personal size barrier. The amount of walking and heat (and therefore lack of appetite) in Singapore however, got me back to my regular size… and once we hit London I felt ready to shop again.

Upon reflection, the four-storey top shop in Oxford Street may have coaxed me out of retail wilderness before I was ready. The variety was amazing, I was grabbing every second thing I passed. Not being sure what size I was, I picked the size I sometimes am at home and the size which is one under my PSB, just to be safe. Well, it turns out that English sizing is much smaller than New Zealand sizing – a British 12 is like a NZ 8/10 and so on… which meant that the two sizes I was trying on were too small… I would have to breech the PSB to make any purchases. Could I do it? Actually, no. It took me two weeks before I could bring myself to purchase an item past my PSB, and in reality the only reason why I did it was because I had a job interview and no black skirt – it was a necessity, and as soon as I get a pair of scissors I will be cutting the label out…

3. Arm thing
Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a muscley type of girl. In fact toned is a bit of an overstatement: twelve-year-olds can beat me at arm wrestling matches, and I need assistance to open jars. Therefore it goes to say that I have always considered my arms quite slender (yes, slender and puny are the same thing), why then, when trying on an oddly-sized British shirt that fits every where else, will my arms not fit in the holes? It is the strangest thing. At first I thought it was just me. I was hesitant to bring it up with Briar in case I actually had freakishly large arms and had just never noticed… one day it got to be too much though and I told Bri and she had been having the same problem – what are the odds!??! Obviously New Zealand girls eat too much spinach. There is no other explanation.

So, other than my big foot (pre-existing) and big arm (newly-developed) complexes, as well as my wrestle with the PSB, shopping in England is a dream… the variety is endless (and to be honest, what more does a girl really need?)… and it’s not until you get to the checkout counter and perform the necessary currency conversion that a whole new string of anxieties set in!