By alice [at] new-slang [dot] com“>ALICE SARMIENTO

DISCUSSED: Havaianas, Gladiator Sandals, Cosmo, Polite Society, and You, the human bag rack

Can you say "stocking stuffer?"

“Poopy, which one do you like better?” your girlfriend asks, holding up two pairs of sandals for you to scrutinize.

One is an aquamarine cross between a peep-toe boot and a gladiator sandal, with brass-studded straps and a matching brass zipper running up the back; the other is a pink thong with a patch of leopard print vinyl on the vamp. Chrome buckles fasten on either side, and attached to the back of the sandal is what appears to be a pink canvas leg warmer. “You slip your foot in here and since the tube is pink, it won’t go out of style—at least not for a long time.” Your girlfriend says, in defense of the shoe/sandal. This is like that time she bought Crocs. Also like the times she insisted on lining-up for Havaianas as the last stop on all of your dates. Who spends 8,500.00 on slippers in the span of 3 months? Your girlfriend, that’s who.

But they're oh-so-soft and cushy and I really, really need them!

Questions like this are a trap and are best avoided by outright refusal to shop with your girlfriend. Since the latter is not an option (hint: relationship, over), you solve this problem by blindly guessing your way through. “That one,” you answer, pointing to nothing in particular. “This one?” she says, giving the aqua sandal/boot/thing a little shake. “That one.” You mumble, giving your head a little shake. You have been standing here for 10 minutes and even that is 10 minutes too many, but you are a patient boyfriend and a good man. You are the one. You will get through this, one hideous pair of patent leather footwear at a time.

“May size 7 kayo?” she asks the saleslady, who delightedly rushes into the stockroom to fetch her pink sandal-boot-shoe-thing. You wander around the tiny space, absentmindedly thumbing rhinestones on ballet flats, giant buttons on pumps, and ruffles on boots (“Because fringe is laos na,” said your girlfriend). The saleslady returns with two boxes and a disclaimer, “Miss, wala po sa pink, pero sa green at sa yellow, meron.”

Your girlfriend holds them up, “Boohby, green or yellow?”

This is like those times when your girlfriend asks you if she looks fat. There is no right or wrong answer, in fact, there are no answers. If you answer too quickly and sound too certain, you are being insensitive. If you hesitate, you’re stalling. If you act like it doesn’t matter—“Just say no!” like the mantra for dealing with peer pressure in the 90s—you’re not paying attention. Instead, you smile, maybe pretend you have to go to the bathroom. Lately, it has dawned on you that the best thing to do, would probably be to divert the question to your own imaginary weight gain.

“Don’t I look fat?” you ask your girlfriend.

“Don’t be silly! Do I look fat?”

The last time, you had wanted to end this discussion by calmly telling her that everybody looks fat in yellow skinny jeans. They’re tight. They’re yellow. They’re a caution sign for your ass. Why would anyone wear anything that makes their bottom half look like a twin banana?

“You do not look fat,” you had assured her. When you texted your girlfriend earlier, she had replied that she was already dressed and set to go. 20 minutes after you arrived, she was still checking out every angle of her very yellow self in the full-length mirror.

“Are you sure? These are yellow jeans. They make everybody look fat.”

Some time back, after the fat yellow jean incident, your girlfriend threw 6 pairs of colored skinny jeans into a large shopping bag. “I think it’s important that we think of other people’s needs,” was her reasoning behind the move. Also, “Who still wears colored skinnies? Those things got laos like 4 months ago pa, right?” The jeans traded hands at a nearby drop-off point for donations and relief goods. In the car on the way back, your girlfriend was pleased with herself, the air of self-satisfaction filled the tiny space between you.

“Poohbear, let’s go to Rockwell! I deserve a treat!” she squealed. 4,590.00 pesos on acid washed jeans: that was her treat.

Watching your girlfriend after payday, or anything that called for congratulatory expenses, you would imagine was a lot like watching yourself in front of the counter at Filbar’s when you were 12. Today, this translates to watching you in front of the counter at any appliance store. “Precision engineering. High style. High performance.” The words call out to you the way “Acid wash is this season’s must-have wardrobe staple” makes sense to your girlfriend. When the Power Mac store opened in Greenbelt 3, you had dragged her there and she had watched you drift from shelf to shelf, ogling the smooth white surfaces, letting your fingers glide over matte buttons and clickwheels.

“I don’t get it,” she muttered, dismissively flicking aside a 54,000.00 peso price tag. “What’s not to get about a dynamic and aggressive multimedia solution?” you quipped. Looking at the tags on the shoes your girlfriend can’t stop ogling, the thought returns, “I don’t get it.”

Green or yellow is an exercise in freedom of choice. Now that pink is ruled out, the list has been shortened, limiting your girlfriend’s options. “It’s great to have so many choices,” your girlfriend would often exclaim, her eyes glazing over, hypnotized, as she moved between racks at upscale boutiques. You have long given up going to department stores with your girlfriend, as the rows and rows of merchandise only bewildered her, and her bewilderment only added to your stress. You were usually there all day, carrying bags, waiting beside her on benches as she tried on pair after pair. “WHICH ONE, POOP-BEAR-BOOBY-HONEYPIIIE, WHICH ONE?!” So many colors, so many styles, so many pairs available in her size, the abundance of choices paralyzed her. She often left empty-handed, head hung as if to say, “I’ll think it over.”

In hindsight the Havaianas phase was a relief, because no matter how ridiculous it seemed to burn that much money on rubber flip-flops, it simply was a matter of picking a color. Picking a color now, you point to the green. Green is clean, the color of nature, the color of peace, green is easy on the eyes. That is why they use it for hospital interiors and as a replacement for the garish hot pink originally chosen by Bayani Fernando to paint the city.

She looks at the green pair, frowns, “I like yellow better. It says in Cosmo that yellow is making a comeback.” One of the things you must remember about shopping with your girlfriend is that you’re not making her choices, you’re simply guiding them.

Seriously. Seriously?

Three minutes later, she returns, empty-handed. “I think I’d get more out of a pair of tube-flops,” she says, referring to the strange slipper-sock combo Sanuk is forcing down the throats of the young, female, and impressionable. At least, like Havaianas, this should simply be a matter of picking a color.

In your girlfriend’s defense, she is usually not to blame for her indecision. Your girlfriend’s mind is inundated with a baffling array of competing brands, styles, and price points, while yours is occasionally torn between black shirt vs. white shirt. In any commercial hotspot, areas devoted to women’s needs are usually double the size of those devoted to men’s. Even the guidebooks are at odds, with Cosmo’s opinion opposing Marie Claire’s, Candy’s opposing Meg’s. What’s more baffling though is why your girlfriend cares so much.

“I want to look good for myself, for my sake,” says your girlfriend while poring over “Shocking Beauty Tricks of Celeb Makeup Artists and Stylists”. Flipping between “The Megan” and “The Victoria”, your girlfriend studies her reflection, silently gauging her physical capacity to pull-off a cross between a B-list starlet and a British waif. She lets her hair down and bites the insides of her cheeks. “What do you think?” she asks you. The guides are detailed, selling themselves with words like “step-by-step”, boasting of how far you’ll go “with these tips”. All scientifically researched. Openers such as “You’ll want to…”, “Adopt these…”, and “Don’t forget to…” tread that thin line between being imperative as opposed to being merely suggestive.

How to Shop: Ultimately a Question of How to decide

“What do you think?” coming from your girlfriend in any context can be a loaded question. While shopping or while getting dressed, it ranges from a mild inconvenience to cause for a full-blown bickerfest. It may seem silly at times, but watching your girlfriend peruse a glossy or shop for shoes brings you to new heights of understanding about how women have been fashioned to function in polite society. Once you get past the neurosis and the needless consumerism, you will see that your girlfriend is a beacon for polite society. There is no excuse for imperfection when all the things thrown in their way are meant as roadmaps out of it. Her enthusiasm for The Secret, her subscription to Cosmo, and her religious fervor for Dr. Phil, Tyra, and Oprah all testify to an insatiable need to not only get it together; but to keep it together with the necessary affirmation that she’s doing it correctly.

That’s where you come in, you think to yourself, the human bag rack standing beside her. After all, this is about choices; if there’s one magazine you’re waiting for, it’s a step-by-step guide on how to make choices. “I’m just going to need a little help,” she says, browsing the 8-foot tall rack of tube flops. She turns to you, her rock, her guiding light, her main source of opinions that she never even takes. She holds up two pairs, “Poopy, yellow or green?”

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Alice is a managing editor of New Slang. This year, she has resolved to replace envy with fanmail and stop shoving her feelings in other people’s faces. She posts random songs here and overshares here.