What I do know is that things are surely not staying the same. The onslaught of multiple Century 21′s, express buses to Woodbury Commons, brand labels created exclusively for the outlet stores, lead me to believe that there is simply not enough bargain to go around. I’m no economist, but simple supply and demand tells me that there is a limited supply of overstock, slightly damaged merch and last season’s styles to fill all these “discount” shelves.

Furthermore, with my mother’s New Jersey twang ringing in my head, (which, when I imitate her, sounds strikingly like my Mike Bloomberg rendition as well as my mother-in-law to be’s Boca-isms), I ask “this is such a bah-gain?!?!” when grabbing some Marc Jacobs schmata, still priced in the triple digits. Last time I checked, ruffles, mismatched buttons and small tears were passe, no?

A few examples:

I enter the Space outlet at Woodbury- how is an orange Prada bag at $600.00 any more of a bargain than one in black at $900.00?

Tory Burch flats at the eponymously named “discount” shop- only about 10% cheaper than at Bloomies or Saks? The gasoline to the outlets is worth more than this bargain.

At Bloomingdales, I notice a Theory blazer on sale. With the store’s marked down price, and my coupon, it’s cheaper than any outlet. And they have every size imaginable. Come to think of it, it’s quite comforting to find everything I’m looking for– the right color, multiple sizes, no damaged goods. Is the world changing? Or am I just growing up? Maybe my mother is right– sometimes, you just want what you want.

Perhaps it’s me. I once considered myself a panopticon in the discount hunters’ universe. Am I crashing the wrong party? Do I need to visit the garment district? Chinatown? Foreign Markets? Is discount the new rip-off? Is my mother Einstein?

Although I think it’s a silly word, perfect, and a silly concept, perfection, the betrothed say that it truly exists: a wedding dress that makes you forget about cellulite, stretch marks, your rent check and all the bitter ways marriage can end. That there is a moment when you look in the mirror and say “I do.” As in, I DO look drop dead stunning in this gown. I will shout Hava Nagila from the top of my lungs and I will turn heads. So me of little faith decided that she would mosey on over to the Kleinfeld’s annual sample sale; it started at 5 pm, it’s a breezy summer Tuesday in the city, and I am on vacation. As I walked south on 6th avenue, I paused at 20th st. Left or right? Just east of 6th or just west? I suppose the blinding bling should have directed me; as I turned west, at around 3 pm, there stood, and sat, about 60 women, brides and brides’ little helpers: mothers, friends, sisters.

There was a silent aggression in the air- first, you do the requisite subtle stare: engagement ring. Then, assess her style. Assess her size. Will she be competition? Can I take her? As I retrieve my number, 39 (not so bad), I walk to the back of the line, watching and being watched. There’s a quiet aggression, like drunk people at a country club. As I take my place behind the last girl, the sun ducks behind a building and my cell phone vibrates. It’s a text message from my fiance: “good luck, baby. And if anyone fights you for a dress, go for their knees.” No matter how many jokes people make about the infamous Friends gown shopping episode, I know there’s some truth in this message: use all my private school savvy, and fight like hell. But two hours later, I was leaving, carrying out only a pair of sandals that I bought earlier uptown.

There were cameramen flocking the line, interviewing girl #1, after all, being the first person in line at the Kleinfeld’s sample sale must make you some kind of New York wonder. They also swarmed around friendly faces, absurd conversations, generous talkers. As a writer and consummate New Yorker, I am embarrassed to confess that I didn’t realize the enormity of such an event; the press was out. So it was sotto voce that I discussed bikini waxes, with my neighbor on line. On a rare afternoon when nobody in my life could accompany me on such a journey, I found myself awash in conversation with my bridal buddies. In fact, I spent about a hour and a half talking incessantly with the loveliest young woman, a makeup artist-soon-to-be-teacher named Lisa Rothenberg (she does weddings!) and her warm, generous mother who provided chocolate covered almonds for all the parched, exhausted brides in her sight. All we needed was a lemonade stand. This was the highlight of the day and the almonds were moist and decadent. People who camp out together for such events will always share a special bond, like those together at summer camp, a blackout, the LSATs.

Upon entering, I was herded to the back, asked to turn in my number, and then the debriefing began; the woman’s tight bun and long face wiggled as she directed me: three dresses at a time, take them off the rack yourself, place them over there, she points to a man, one of the only in the place, and he will help you get a room. I roamed around for about 10 minutes, taking this much more lightly then one should, I suppose. Others zoomed and zipped while I slowly stuck my hands in the plastic covering the gowns; milky whites, washed out lemons, dirtied puffs of clouds, drifted into my fingers. The racks with dresses under $800.00 must have all been snatched up by numbers 1-38. And, in my humble opinion, anything over $800.00 should really be decided upon with your mother. I’m all about a great deal. And I never need perfection. But no returns, no more than three dresses at a time, no alterations and no personal dressing room? It simply wasn’t worth it to me today.

In short, water at the bodega: $2. Tasti-Delite on the walk there: $3. Finding a fabulous make-up artist for my wedding, while standing on line: $300. Not having a list of rules while trying on wedding gowns: priceless.

It’s been a joy to receive such positive feedback about the little pink list. And for those who know me well, I’m so inspired by your encouragement and enthusiasm as well as your noodging about expanding this site.

So last week I decided that shopping alone would not suffice. I indeed had some things to say about eating in New York as well as living a New York life both on and off the yoga mat.

At first, I envisioned “little pink menu” and “little pink yoga”. And then I realized how silly it all sounded. So I added two new categories, and rolled shopping into one. They’re still living under the big umbrella of little pink list-

same list, still pink, just not as little.

A few years back, when I was an impoverished graduate student, every dollar counted. So, while shopping at Bloomingdale’s (I know, I know, why is a poor grad student at Bloomies? But come on now, one still needs to look good after all, even when one is subsisting on canned tuna, doesn’t one?) for a strapless bra (I was desperate as I had a wedding to attend just days later) it became a toss-up between a Wacaol and a Chantelle. As a Chantelle girl, I opted for the latter but given my budget constraints I decided to be practical and save myself about $15-$20 and go with the Wacaol.

But let me tell you, that Chantelle bra looked slammin’ in the dressing room and I tortured myself over the decision. You know the shopping demons that perch themselves on your shoulder: “What’s a few extra dollars?! come on!” “Well, a few extra dollars is a night of sushi take-out, it means Citeralla not Gristede’s”, “Yes, but who wants to go to Gristede’s or Citeralla in a less than sexy bra?” And the argument goes on; if you’re anything like I am, it can go on for a long, long time.

Needless to say, I bought the Wacaol bra, made peace with the choice and moved on. Well, almost moved on. A year or so later, finished with school and shedding some of my shopping guilt, I cruised up to Bloomie’s to pick up that great Chantelle bra that I never did truly forget about. After all, how many great strapless bras does one girl find in lifetime?

So there I am, frantically searching the Chantelle nook, rummaging through racks, peeking behind hanger after useless plastic hanger but to no avail. In total denial, I assume they must have sold out. Finally, a woman asks if she can help me find something (we all know the service there is hit or miss). I describe the bra, right down to the rubberized interior at the top of the cup and the scalloped detailing along the edges.

“Oh, they discontinued that.” Why do people have to say things so nonchalantly these days? And before I’ve even had the chance to internalize this news, she proceeds to ask if I’d like to check out some of the other strapless bras. Of course I don’t want to try on other strapless bras! If I wanted another strapless bra, I would go home and dig out the black Wacaol and throw myself a party! So I left Bloomie’s that afternoon without a bra but with the curious question of why companies do away with great merchandise.

Fast forward to this afternoon. Still shopping too much. Still teaching and driving my students crazy. And to be honest, I’d all but forgotten about this bra. And then, after work today, I just happen to be in the Century 21 neighborhood, and took a sunny stroll through lingerie. I think we all know where this story is going so I won’t even cheapen it with words. Needless to say, I bought more than one, the price was right and I’m wearing it as I type this.

Even if your own story is less dramatic than this one, still visit C21 lingerie. They have tons of On Gossamer undies that are just like Hanky Panky but come in sizes. I love the navy blue. And speaking of Hanky Panky, some of last year’s colors of our favorite one size fits all thong are showing up there as well. Go early and go often; merchandise moves fast.

Recently, two girlfriends, on two separate occasions, mentioned the hanky panky. one size fits all? Is that even possible? $18.00 per pair? Is that even reconcilable on a teacher’s salary? These, of course, are rhetorical questions, because there i was, front and center, in bloomingdale’s lingerie department, lining up to make the purchase.

I must confess that I like them. I do. They’re comfy, they show no lines and i do feel nice in them. still, they are a bit pricey. For a cheaper, and equally good version, hit GapBody. They don’t wash quite as well, but in all other ways are a wonderful substitute. Make sure to get the ultra low rise lace thong, not the cotton and lace ultra low rise thong- which are kind of thick in the crotch area and not half as much fun.

Perhaps this mention of a retail store is a nice segue into my recent concerns of my high school shopping sweetheart. J. Crew is a store few of us grow out of; their casual wear is suitable for any summer road trip, their suiting is classic and affordable and except for their recent foray into wedding attire, J. Crew’s design choices usually seem smart and practical. Why, then, must the bottom line always have to ruin everything?

As many of us know, their website is the place to find bargains. At any time in the season, there’s bound to be pages of clothing rife with hearty discounts. But the fine print is there as well: All sales final. No exchanges. No returns. Now, I’m no financial analyst, but I think I get it. Goal: unload merchandise. But when the big sales happen, I notice the sizes aren’t running out quite as quickly as they did before this new returns policy went into effect. While I’m sure they have plenty of people analyzing their data who believe this to be good business, my data tells me not to shop the sale rack. Unless you already own something, and want a few more for good measure (cashmere is probably the best bet here; sometimes the sweaters, including turtlenecks, get as low as $40.00), why bother? Jeans? No return? No exchange? If I wanted to burn money, I would simply avoid alternate side parking.

Also check out:

Yoga clothes. It’s not Lulu Lemon but some of it is infinitely wearable.

Men’s Hanes undershirts. Size small is nice and long but fits through the body really well. Not as soft as James Pearse but the 3-pack for 6 bucks makes them virtually disposable.

The best part is that you can tell yourself you’re going there to do productive shopping, like picking up bulk toothpaste and family size diet coke cases. Then, when you sneak in a few good finds, it doesn’t feel quite as bad.

Right now, they’re only in Brooklyn (or the suburbs-check out the Edgewater store just over the GW bridge in NJ) but they’re due to open shop at 119th and FDR in that long awaited new mall.

Brooklyn location:

139 Flatbush Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11217

I’ve never been the trendsetter amongst my friends. I’m never the first one to find the great new jeans or the hot new restaurant. Although I’m no lemming, I’m no leader of the pack either. So when I landed in Sabon by accident, and quickly became obsessed with their products, I liked to think that I ‘discovered’ them. That was about five years ago, when, I believe, they were only on 6th avenue in the West Village and in the hinterlands of Tel Aviv. I consider myself a Sabon veteran after hiking down Shenken Street in the boiling Israeli summer heat to find their exact location. In my younger years, the hebrew packaging was enough to keep me moving but now I just pop into one of their many Manhattan outposts around town.

I still love Sabon and rarely stray from lavender, vanilla, patchouli (which i believe makes men melt) though I recently ventured into the orange ginger territory. While I could write on about all their products that make me feel pretty even on a chilly bloated Monday I actually must be a little critical of my Israeli brethren.

Do these people work on commission? As I mentioned, I run into any of their stores that are convenient when I need to re-stock. And by run, I wish I meant that I simply grab necessary product from shelf, remove credit card from wallet and execute transaction. Impossible. why? Because one is bombarded by cute, Israeli girls prostituting their products. Hounding. Begging customers to wash their hands in lovely hand soaps, inquiring as to customer familiarity with their products, drowning our senses in jars of deliciously smelling salt scrubs and luxurious lotions. Yes, it’s all very lovely, very exotic, very romantic in there. But sometimes, I just want to go home at the end of the day. Most recently, I found myself cutting a visit short so as to avoid the barrage. This routine may work for boyfriends buying gifts, but as for me, I’m thinking about shopping online.