05 Mar Ny-Lons

After a good six months of relaxed Californian life, my year abroad up until now had been an experience with little to no stress. Then I snagged my last pair of tights or panty hose beyond repair.

If I was still in England, as fellow Brits may understand, this would be no problem. A trip to the nearest Marks and Spencer or Boots – Tesco, even, would rectify this problem before it had the capacity to cause concern. However, being in a foreign land, the final rung on this particular ladder created a problem much larger than my innocent eyes could have perceived as I disembarked the boat so many months ago. There are none of my go-to places here for a simple selection of 20-80 denier tights within a reasonable price range.

I shared my pain with my house-mate who sympathised as she too had recently plied her overly zealous claws through one of her last pairs. In a pit of despair she tells me that she ran to the closest Walgreens, but that their hose were of an inferior quality to the old faithfuls that we have come to rely on.

We battled in vain but eventually our need for protection against goosebumps in the ever-changing San Francisco climate won out. We headed down town to the oppressive bright lights of union square. Neither of us are particularly keen shoppers and both prefer the relaxed pace of Valencia or Haight to the homogenised shopping experience offered in the heart of the city. We dragged ourselves up the escalator at Powell St (it was out of order) and a suitably grey sky emerged overhead.

We tried everywhere: H&M, Urban Outfitters, Forever 21, but nowhere seemed to have tights that fulfilled the brief. Some were too pricey, some were too thick, too thin, too lacy, not lacy enough. There only seemed to be one place left but our previous experiences made us hesitant.

There was a huge advertising campaign in San Francisco just before Christmas. Uniqlo was arriving, bringing with it impenetrable flocks of people. Aforementioned house-mate and I had visited the Mecca of the basic in every shade in its infancy and vowed never to go back. The bright lights, the mirrors and the abundance of fleece struck fear in our souls and opened a wound that has only recently healed.

But, still tight-less and with the evening of the day fast approaching, we grasped each other tight-ly and ventured in deep to the chasms of the unknown.

The experience was different this time. We climbed the rainbow mirror steps and almost immediately found our shrine; myriad tights for every occasion. A near perfect selection – not too much choice and far from too little. In a haze of serenity we each chose our preferences and headed to the counter were there was no queue or line and any of our old pains or anticipations evaporated with the prospects we now each clutched in hand.

We came out with 5 pairs between us and house-mate informs me that since our trip she has returned for more – alone.

H.