Like a Paper Doll

The good news for moms-to-be is that maternity clothes are way cuter now. The bad news is that they’re still expensive. And who wants to spend a lot of money on jeans with a giant cloth waist band?

A friend in Atlanta told me about a store here called Izzy Maternity. “I went there and they dressed me like a paper doll!” she said. I went in there the day I found out I was pregnant, hoping to get one of those novelty t-shirts that says something like “Baby” with an arrow so I could break the news to Frank. However, when I saw the $50 price tag, I decided he would have to settle for a handmade sign that said, “BIG DADDY.”

So I decided to stay away from that store. But then I needed a dress for my baby shower. I meant to go to Mimi Maternity which has somewhat decent prices but my pregnancy brain cells got me all mixed up and I ended up at Izzy Maternity. As soon as I walked in I had flashbacks to the $50 tank tops. I wanted to run out but I was the only one in there and therefore, became the prey of the two employees: an overly made-up woman in her 50s and a young, flamboyant man.

They must have decided I was paper doll material because this is what went down:

“Oh, hello! How are you doing? You sure are getting big! When are you due again?” the lady asked.

“Um, April,” I said, and wanted to add, “Have we met?”

Since there was no turning back, I told her I needed a shower dress. She proceeded to lead me around the store, picking out items she thought would be fabulous for me and my fetus:

“Honey, you would look great in this one! Orange is really your color!”

“Is it a dress or a skirt?”

“That’s the best part! It’s both. It can be a skirt if you wear it like this. It can be a strapless dress if you wear it like this AND check this out: it’s reversible! It’s like three outfits in one!”

It better be, I thought, as I peeked at the $150+ price tag.

After she had chosen several dresses for me to try on (none of which I was planning to buy both because I didn’t like them nor did I want to spend that much money), I headed to the dressing room. As I came out and modeled each dress one by one, the lady and her male assistant gave me paper doll feedback:

“No, that’s all wrong. It looks like a nightgown on you!”

“Now that is precious. Look at her! You’re absolutely glowing in that one!”

“Love the dress. Hate the bow. We have to lose the bow.”

“It doesn’t fit right in the chest.”

“Gorgeous with a capital G!”

“I know you might think it’s weird that a man is working at a maternity store but I grew up with five sisters. Now let me unzip that dress for you!”

And then when I would go back into the dressing room to change into the next ensemble, they would continue to talk about me. I thought for sure they would drop the act and start talking about what time they got off work, what they wanted for lunch, etc. But no, it was all about me, their latest paper doll victim:

“Her shoulders are just so tiny! I’ve got to find something that will work.”

“You know what would look great on her? This floral-print strapless. It’s like it was made for her.”

When I came out after trying on the last dress (and thinking I was home free), they had pulled every dressy top they had off of every mannequin:

“We’re thinking forget the dress. Let’s go for pants and a top,” the guy said, pointing to the pile.

“Um, those all look great but I need to run and I think I’ll come back tomorrow with my husband,” I said, hoping they’d buy my story.

They didn’t.

Instead, they completely shut down. The smiles went away. The sing-song voices were gone. They began to gather up the tops. Another customer walked in and the guy went over to help her. Concerned that they would think I was lying, I tried to validate my story to the lady: “What time do you open tomorrow? I’ll be back with my husband to show him some of these great outfits!”

“We open at 10,” the lady said bluntly.

“Okay, well thanks for your help! I’ll see you tomorrow!” I said.

“Sure,” she replied.

As I passed by the guy who was now enthusiastically sizing up the next paper doll victim, I said, “Thanks so much for your help!”

He completely ignored me.

So I didn’t go back. Now I get all my maternity clothes at Target where they just say, “How many you got?” and hand you a number when you go into the dressing room. And Kohl's--where they won't even help you with your zipper, even when you're clearly stuck. Those are my kinds of places.