Just when I was kicking my Anthropologie habit a couple years back, they went and opened a new store in an old building known for its design roots in Harvard Square. I resisted. Purchasing a home and the economy made it easy to keep resisting. Goodbye funky, flowered, patchwork skirts. Goodbye heavenly nightgowns and $238 wedges (OK, I never bought these, but I coveted them). Farewell delicate, handpainted teacups and saucers. I don’t need you.
But after more than five years of intending to switch out the uncool knobs on my white, chippy bureau to chic modern ones, I finally steeled myself to buy eight new pulls that, for the same price, might have paid for a new bureau on craigslist. I had a gift card, so it eased the pain.
Before hustling to the check out, I lingered over sweet notecards and dangly chandelier earrings, interior design books and more shoes worth a car payment. Then I hit the cramped sale room (seriously, it’s so small that finding a bargain is earned; patience tried) and found one awesome pair of pants (zipper pockets, zippered cropped legs), the only one of its style and in my size and marked with in beautiful red ink with the unbelievable: $9.95. Ten-dollar pants at Anthropologie? I’m back, baby. I’m sorry I ever left you.