I recently heard Abercrombie & Fitch will be moving out of the mall. Or maybe they already have – I’m finding it hard to care. As disheartening as this may be for the A&F crowd, I have talked to plenty of people who don’t seem too torn up about it.
Perhaps I’ve never given the store a chance. I suppose I only tried it a handful of times, several years ago – back when I was naïve enough to believe there was a chance of find a reasonable deal on something that fit. This belief, of course, lasted strongly until the first rack, where I discovered couldn’t afford a size 2 and couldn’t find a size 9, which I assume would have been the same price, had the store offered “plus sizes”.
The reality is, I generally exited the store within three minutes of entering for several reasons.
First of all, the store was headache central. The fumes were entirely too much to handle. Wowwwwwie was it strong. There had to be at least 17 bottles of cologne and perfume sprayed in each quadrant of the store per day. Some type of dehumidifier or air filter had to be in the store in order for them to meet codes. Come to think of it, a person could have made a killing selling mouth masks a few stores down. Oh, and if the fumes didn’t do it for you, the annoyingly loud “mm-ch” music would.
Second, I don’t carry a flashlight. The “cave” lighting – though I’m sure it served some type of purpose – made it really difficult to actually shop. Then again, how important is it to see the price tags, sizes and actual merchandise when shopping? In all seriousness, they should have put up a disco ball or lava lamps – something so a person could at least maneuver around the store without colliding with an A&F model. Or associate? Or mannequin? Hello?
Next, I weigh over 100 pounds. My thighs get me around every day. They do stuff. They’re abundant, and yes, they touch each other (GASP!) I needed something obscene like twice the largest size they offered. That’s in real-people world – three times the size in pre-shrunk Abercrombie world. Either way, they didn’t offer it and I didn’t like feeling like a lard-o.
Finally, I’ll admit it. I was faaaaar too cheap. I set some limits. For example, I’m willing to fork over up to $70 for a pair of jeans with a slight tear (the size of a half dollar, max) – but refuse to purchase “shredded” jeans for $170. I really don’t think that makes me a terrible shopper.
We all have our favorite stores, and I’m very sorry for anyone who feels they’ve lost their swagger along with the departure of A&F. Welcome to every other store in America, where a person is able to hear, see, smell and eat.
Good riddance, Abercrombie.
Shootin’ the Wit is a column about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.