Welcome to Gaia! ::

The pile of half-folded clothing was deposited on the counter carefully and the person behind the blob-with-legs was revealed to be a dark-skinned woman topped with a perfect orange bob. At his joke, the corner of her lips curled into a smile, though it seemed almost dismissive.

"Fall collection of 2013."

She unwound her arms from the pile and reached up to pull a pair of rounded sunglasses from her eyes, revealing brilliant pink irises. They were tucked carefully in the v-neck cut of her shirt before she reached out for the pile and plucked out an airy, thin shirt.

"This needs to be hung, not folded. As do these." She let it slip from her fingers to fall back in a graceful wave, then plucked at the sleeves of a few similar types of dresses and blouses. Once she'd given him the instructions, she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped the toe of her wedges against the floor.

She was actually going to stand there and watch him do his job.

Persistence won out, she was pleased to note, as he began to hang the shirts she had indicated. Sloppily, she noticed, but she only grit her teeth and told herself that it was the best she could hope for out of these types of men. Besides, they weren't her clothes, no matter how many times she remembered wearing that one to the club or the time she'd kissed that TA at DCU in the green sweater.

As he picked it up, she shook her head, pointing a manicured nail at it.

"You can just fold that one." Though now there was some question about whether or not he knew how to fold.

Her arm fell back to cross again as she leaned a hip into the counter, waiting somewhat-patiently as he made his way slowly through the pile. She was glad she'd elected to wait, or he would have made such a mess.

"It's less about making room for the new collection and more about getting rid of things that aren't current enough to keep in your wardrobe." She could have sighed at him for his lack of fashion knowledge, but she was used to being one of the few people in the world that cared enough not to wear the same pair of jeans three times a week. "I wouldn't bother trying to understand my type, I can admit that it's a headache."

A small, irritated glance followed the sweater that he finished half-assedly but for the moment she seemed somewhat content to let it pass in favor of listening to what he was drawling on about.

A girlfriend, probably - or perhaps a boyfriend, who could tell these days at a glance - who seemed interested enough in fashion that the boy was inclined to try and keep up, and close enough to him that he let them change his entire wardrobe. She wouldn't have called the bit of assumed information interesting, but at least it gave her a tiny hope that someone would understand the worth of her clothing in this area.

Her eyes took in his smile and his mild distraction as he spoke, then drifted back to the poorly folded sweater like the idea of leaving it there like that was going to be impossible for her to forget for the rest of the day. It probably would be. With a purse of her lips she reached for it, grabbed the fabric lightly, and folded it to perfection with the quick skill of someone that spent far too much time involved with clothes and fabrics.

"Style and fashion change too often for most people to keep up, but that's why it appeals to the human nature. It's always new and exciting, or a revival of something old and comforting." There was a warmness in her tone as she spoke about clothing as if it were her dearest friend, shining light on the fact that it was probably harder for her to give up her prized possessions than it was for other socialites. Fashion had always been a distraction from her own problems - and more consistent than the promise of any man in her life.

As she set the sweater back down, she stilled her fingers back to calm, waiting for him to assess the rest of the pieces.

"Everyone deserves to have nice things, even if they're a little outdated." There was a small shrug then as she continued with her idle chatter, though now her eyes had drifted away from him and to the other people browsing through the store. She might have seemed very self involved, but Zoe often made wardrobe donations to the needy - nothing she ever bought was wasted, no matter how quickly it cycled out of favor with the ever-evolving socialites.

A woman she had seen numerous times on her trips gave her a knowing wave from where she lingered idly by the door. She raised a hand to wave back, knowing she would be over to peruse what Zoe had left behind as soon as it was marked and ready for sale.