Window shopping

New York is a wonderful place to go shopping with all its glamorous shops with endless variety of consumer goods, if you can afford to shop, or, if not, go window shopping to delight your eyes. But, ironically, by the time I made a complete move to the city, at 77, I found myself with very little interest in shopping. It is probably true that material needs diminish in old age. I don’t need new dresses as for now; I have more accessories than I can use; I have no room for new furnishings. I never had appetite for luxury items, though I used to buy modestly priced works of art. Now, I have no more wall space left in my apartment for even one more picture; I disposed of a stack when I moved out of the house in Swarthmore. My appliances and electronics are all still in good shape; I replaced some of them when I moved in the apartment. I still buy some books, CDs, and DVDs; but space for them is also running out. This is all perfect because my disposable income goes heavily into theater tickets, leaving little for anything else. Consequently, I have also lost appetite for window shopping, because without a prospect of future shopping there is not much need for scouting for new things to buy. Beautiful apparels in shop windows are beautiful; but I am not enticed. It is true that my wardrobe gets out of fashion year by year, and window shopping keeps sharpening one’s discriminating taste. But, to quote Coco Chanel, “La mode c’est ce qui se démode,” and I have a certain taste for a select "mode démodée." I dabble in the art of looking presentable, if not more or less elegant, in an outdated, and often inexpensive, outfit. I manage. New York for me is not for shopping or window shopping. Well, if I had a windfall of inheritance, I'm sure I'll change.