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Being a Personal Shopper is an Important Job

Most people want to “make a difference,” to work at something that gives meaning not only to their own lives, but to others. Doctors, nurses, firefighters, teachers, preachers, etc.: They do work that matters. But I’m here to testify that one of the people who made the biggest difference in my life was a personal shopper.

A year ago, my father fell ill suddenly and died an hour before I boarded a plane to see him. The week following his death was awful—my mother was hospitalized (she’s fine now), my brother and I both came down with the stomach flu, it rained ceaselessly. I’ve never felt as battered by life as I did that week. Then on Thursday—with services planned for Sunday—I realized I had a suitcase full of jeans and t-shirts and sweaters. I hadn’t packed for a funeral.

My dad at my brother's wedding

My dad at my brother’s wedding

My husband offered to bring anything I needed from home, but the one black outfit I owned was a ten-year-old cocktail dress that showed too much cleavage. I dragged myself out to a store near my parents’ house, where I looked at black dresses, burst into tears, and drove home empty-handed.

I wanted to look good. My father appreciated good-looking women, and believed in looking good for special occasions. He grew up poor—indeed, the first suit he owned was a hand-me-down from a neighbor he wore to his high school graduation—and he was an informal, down-to-earth guy, but he always put effort into his own appearance, from the leather shoes he shined every week to the small flag pin he wore in the lapel of every blazer he owned.

So I made an appointment with a personal shopper. I don’t remember her name. I remember entering the dressing room feeling raw with grief, thin and shaky from my recent bout of flu. The shopper had arranged five or six outfits for me to try on, right down to the jewelry and shoes. She helped me into and out of clothes, searched the floor for different styles and sizes, and found jackets and sweaters to go with every outfit, in case the church was cold. She brought a box of Kleenex. At last I found a black dress I loved and felt lovely in, and a pair of dark red shoes.

I wore the outfit when I delivered my father’s eulogy, and when I sat in the front row of the church with one arm around my mother, and when I shook hands and hugged the people who came to the reception after the funeral. I looked great. Dad would have been proud.

So personal shopper, wherever you are, you made a difference. Thank you.