Every time I see a trailer or commercial for Confessions of a Shopaholic my fists clench, my lips stretch taunt against my teeth and my eyes roll up into the top of my skull. I am so annoyed that I vibrate.
It’s the “hilarious” story of woman so obsessed with shoes, bags and clothing that she becomes crippled with credit card debt. The character is vapid and I pray that I’m raising my daughters to be more thoughtful human beings. I hope they’ll never need a pair Prada shoes to feed their self esteem.
Then I remind myself that it’s only a romantic comedy. Not a documentary. I’m not even the target audience for cryin’ out loud! I wondered why I was giving a friggin’ commercial for a movie so much power over me.
So I meditated on the REAL reason why I was getting so angry. The actual reason for your anger is rarely on the surface. You have to do a bit of digging. And I had a spark of clarity.
I spent many, many years dating in Manhattan and overall it was a pleasant experience. But in New York City, the woman depicted in Confessions of a Shopaholic actually exists. I’ve always done okay for myself financially but I am not wealthy and never will be. When I would date a Shopaholic and it became obvious that my income was modest and always would be, I was dumped. I am almost certainly better off for not having fallen in love with someone of that ilk, but a rejection is still a rejection.
But remember one thing don’t lose your head
To a woman that’ll spend your bread
Every Picture Tells a Story
Rod Stewart
Having been kicked repeatedly over a number of years for the same reason has left a sore spot.
So I won’t see that movie. It’ll only stir bad memories of feeling inadequate. Plus it was produced by Jerry Bruckheimer who’s a shithead bottom feeder and I don’t want to give him my $10 bucks.
Exile on Pain Street 