I haven’t shopped in an Abercrombie & Fitch store in quite a while. Aside from feeling less-than-satisfied with my increasing waist and decreasing hairlines even without comparing myself to their svelte, nude models, I think the clothes are stupid and overpriced. (If you wear their clothing I’m sure you got a great deal and look irresistibly sexy.)
This weekend, as Hayley and I were enjoying one another’s company at the mall, we decided to take a journey into the store, just to look around and see if they had any jeans that would make my butt look hotter than it does in Gap jeans. A fool’s errand, to be sure.
As we walked toward the store a scent hit us – not as we were walking across the threshold, but when we were still a good 10 feet away. Moving towards the entrance, the smell only got stronger, as if a bottle, full of Abercrombie smell, had been smashed on the floor. We made our way towards the back of the store, gagging, choking, under the assumption the scent was from some sort of tragic accident and if we moved deeper into the store the smell would improve. I am convinced the odor was influencing our decision-making. I looked around at the other patrons. They were all fine, examining the “quality” merchandise without a care in the world.
As we approached the dressing room/cash wrap area, a friendly sales rep said “Hello, how are you,” and then quickly dashed away from us when we were barely able to choke out a reply. Hurrying through the girl’s clothing section, we darted past a fake-blonde, overly tan, dead-behind-the-eyes tween, dragging her bored, rich, Coach-logo-encrusted-purse-carrying mother behind her (note: Hayley is responsible for this accurate, if slightly to greatly offensive, description). Gasping for air, unsure how much further we could go, we finally made it to the exit and made a beeline for the Great American Cookie Company to drown our sorrows.
Even hours after the cookie was devoured, we were unable to completely wipe the experience from our minds, as Hayley’s hair still smelled slightly of the store. Even though several days have past, we are still scarred by the experience. Hayley claims her hair still smells, and when I sneeze three times in a row, the scent and the memories come rushing back.
I tell this story as a warning to all shoppers who are anything like Hayley and me (namely, not dead behind the eyes): Abercrombie & Fitch does not want you in their stores. They will conduct chemical warfare against you. You’ve been warned.
Full disclosure: I do have an Abercrombie skiing jacket that I do wear on occasion. And I like it.
Typical conversation in our home:
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