* The Big Shwop was a big disappointment. They said they would only accept quality items and well … they seemed to be much less discerning than I. I saw them accept a pair of Pulp (the Glassons of Shoes) shoes that used to be white but were extremely well worn.
I brought 16 items, had 15 accepted, and came away with only 4 items. A pair of MNG jeans, a black and white striped cardigan, a generic black wool top, and a Jacket that turned out to be much too big.
People are manic. They were grabbing armfuls of clothing and trying them on around the edges of the room, thereby getting around the “5 items in the changing room” rule, and meaning that the things they were trying on and rejecting were left behind and the racks weren’t getting restocked.
I guess I would go again (I have 7 re-shwop stamps after all) but I would definitely bring my Tier 2 cast-offs and not my Tier 1.
See, here’s the thing:
In the last two years I’ve lost a bit of weight. Quite a bit. About 20 kilos kind of a bit.
I’ve dropped … a few dress sizes**. Which in turn means I have a wardrobe – and boxes in my “office” – full of clothes which are really quite nice, barely worn, and just too damn big for me now.
I’ve been trying to psych myself up to sell them on TradeMe but it is just so much work for not-very-much of a payout.
Why sell a dress for the price of a cup of coffee or two, when you can exchange it for … a shirt! Or maybe another dress!
Enter: The Big Shwop
Sunday July 25
Venue: The St James Theatre, Courtenay Place, Wellington
Time: 10 am – 2.30 pm
Tickets: $20 from their website: http://www.thebigshwop.co.nz, or just turn up on the day
R 18 event as alcohol (woo!) is being served
Bring up to 20 items of clothing. Shwop.
You bring along 20 of your best quality no-longer-wanted items of clothing/shoes/handbags and exchange them for vouchers which you then get to use to “buy” items brought along by other Shwoppers!
Don’t bother bringing items that, should your taste be different, you still wouldn’t wear. Nothing ripped or stained or worn-beyond-recognition. The shwop is for good quality clothing. No Supré here***.
The only catch is, perhaps, that you don’t get your clothing back if it doesn’t make the cut, and you likewise get nothing if you don’t use all your vouchers. All clothing which doesn’t make the cut or is leftover at the end of the day is donated to charity.
It sounds marvellous. Even if I only come away with one or two items for my $20-and-donated-clothing, I’m looking forward to spending the day with a couple of my favourite ladies, free wine, and Trilogy goodies.
You should come along too!
* Yes the spelling bugs me. But I’m rising above.
** I’m now wearing a size I last wore when I was 18 and depressed and Craig lived in Auckland and I barely ate. Only this time, I eat. In fact I just finished a chocolate bar. But in general, eating better food, and less of it (I no longer let Craig serve me) teamed with more exercise is how I’ve done it. Boring, I know.
*** I’m already planning what I’m going to bring. A Karen Millen top and jacket, a bright fuchsia coat from H&M, a fancy frock from Portmans, a bag by United Colours of Benetton, all things which are still wonderful but no longer Me.
p.s. My anniversary present from Craig?
It was 6:15pm on the 15th July 2000 and one of my parents called me to dinner, I hung up the phone and almost skipped downstairs, thinking to myself I have a boyfriend … I have a boyfriend.
It had been a strange conversation. I had received a rushed call from Petra telling me to call this boy who had kissed me two weeks earlier, because he wanted to ask me out. She told me his number and I memorised it instantly (565 1406 I think) and called him with shaking fingers. He didn’t ask me out. I danced around the subject, he seemed happy to hear from me but He Didn’t Ask Me Out. That is all I can remember, it was probably all I could hear, until finally it came about that he thought we were already going out. That his friend Brent had asked him out for me. Oh teenage romances, they are the stuff a plotline hates.
I made him ask me. It was only right. And then it was dinner time and I had no idea what had begun.
As a reticent older child I didn’t tell anyone, of course, and it was two weeks before he asked me to go to his 6th form formal (prom) with him and I knew I needed a dress. And to get the dress I needed money. And to get the money I would have to tell my mother.
I remember standing in front of the heater and telling her I needed a dress, that I was going to a formal, and that it was with a boyfriend type boy.
That photo up there is a from that dance. My hair too formal, too tight, pearl studs in my ears and something akin to trepidation in my eyes. Craig looks like a baby, and the gap in his teeth was still there then. He brought me an Iris and he was so very very tall.
Still is, really.
Did you do the math? 2000 to 2010.
Today Craig and I have been Craig and I for a decade.
I had no idea all those nights ago. No idea at all.
It always happens like this.
I don’t take care of myself very well when I’m coming to the end of the show. I can’t eat in the evenings of a performance and I run on caffeine, stress, nerves, and adrenaline.
I end up covered in bruises and with exhaustion luggage under my eyes that lasts for a week.
This time I have also ended up with some horrible flu/tonsilitis/malaise illness.
It probably doesn’t help that during rehearsals/performances there was always one cast member silently (or not-so-silently) suffering from a cold. I thought my usually robust immune system would ward it off. I never get sick.
But then, the not eating and not sleeping, and the bruises … I am sick.
Everything sounds underwater and I have a horrible hacking cough.
I should probably be at home in bed but, as these things inevitably go, it coincided with a couple of days of work where I really couldn’t be absent. And now? when I could possibly take a day off with little guilt? I’m feeling better. Ish.
Thank goodness for chicken noodle soup.
One Flesh opens tonight!
8pm, St Alban’s Church, Eastbourne.
Every night til Saturday night.
Tickets $15 & available on the door or through bctt.org.nz
I am super nervous. Tonight I have to open my shirt in front of up to 100 paying audience members. The closest I have ever come (or am likely to ever come) to being a stripper*.
But that’s not what I’m most nervous about. As always it comes down to lines line lines and entrances. Also rolling cigarettes on stage without showering myself with tobacco.
* Of course, it works in the context of the play. I never would have done it otherwise.