shopping at P C Hooftstraat

Today I attempted to make myself look more posh and go shopping on the P.C. Hooft straat. Last night I had more ambitious plans, but I was a bit too worn out to do anything, which required physical exertion. I put on makeup, cleaned the dirt out of my fingernails, polished my shoes, picked up a different coat and purse from my friends house.
It is a bit odd to dress up to a projected notion of “fancy” …. Attempting to lean towards a cleaner image, to invent myself a pseudo identity of a person whose consumption habits are much different than mine. Anyone who would be attracted to me, because I had a Louis Vutton bag, would not be at all the type of person who I would want to be attracted to me.
I invented for myself a fake confidence; I was shopping for clothes for an opening in Geneva.
The stores were empty like museums, and when I walked inside of them I was the only customer, greeted with a smile by the clerks. In the rare stores where there were other customers, I noticed how they were waited on. On the streets were very few Dutch people; I noticed more Russians and English. I was not drawn at all to the clothes, too many flowers, too many belts, too many awkward poofs. It is easier for me to invent a fashion out of my own bits and pieces, than to consume something prefabricated, and costing as much as my months wages.
How strange to look at an image of myself putting on makeup. My eyes confronting my own eyes, my eyes focused on the decoration of my own face. Pooofing my lips, stretching my eyes open