Go Back To Where You Came From
That was said to me once: "Go back to where you came from." At my old company, I once found myself trapped waiting for the elevator when Shmarvey Shweinstein and his 6 top executives poured out of his office to wait for the elevator too. I guess he didn't think I had the security clearance to hear their top secret movie discussion (even though I saw my boss assure him that I worked for them) so, as he ashed his cigarette on the head of the shortest exec, he turned to me, glared, and loudly spewed "Go back to where you came from!" As his words bellowed down the hallway, I gingerly made my way around the group (there was a glass wall blocking me which is why I hadn't walked away when I first spotted the rotund man and his minions coming towards me) and headed back to my cubicle.
I thought of this phrase, this sentiment, recently - when I found myself at the new Abercrombie & Fitch store on Fifth Avenue. As I experienced the hellaciousness of this store, I actually thought to myself Susan, go back to where you came from. I didn't belong there.
A little background as to why I went to the Abercrombie & Fitch store in the first place - I needed to get a birthday present for a friend and I was looking for a belt for my sister. Midtown is an area that I rarely visit. I really hardly ever shop in the fancy Fifth Ave/Madison Ave zone. I'm kind of afraid of department stores and I get overwhelmed by the crowds of tourists and the prices for the shiny things in the windows that I will probably never be able to afford. But I decided to be brave. Big mistake. Huge.
The store was ridiculously CROWDED (genius that I am, I decided to go on a Saturday) and loud and dark and the women's clothing was in weird unfolded clumps spread out on all three floors. No one who worked there knew where anything was - they were focused on posing and being boringly purty. Also, there were these weird plants everywhere and more than once I had a near Little Shop of Horrors death-by-plant experience.
The New York Times even ran an article about the store recently. Here are some excerpts:
"Inside, the lighting is a moody chiaroscuro, and the music thumps at such high volume that you have to shout to be heard."
"...shopping at the flagship store is among the more unpleasant experiences to be had in usually retail-friendly Manhattan."
"ATMOSPHERE -- Marquee without the cocktails."
As most of you know, I'm not a big club person to begin with. But if I go to one, it's by choice. Last Saturday, the only choice I made was to buy a t-shirt and a belt. I didn't realize what this would entail - stupid me hadn't read the Times article yet. Some of the A&F clothing used to be okay. Before they wrote "Abercrombie" in giant letters across every garment and/or some dumbass phrase. And before they shrunk everything to lilliputian size so that even the sweaters are cropped. They really should serve cocktails there, it would lessen the deafening blow of the techno music and the fact that it was too dark to find anything and it would allow the many teenage shoppers (in the midst of the awkward stage) to drown their sorrows as they are surrounded by scantily-clad retail employees-turned-models. How about spiked Shirley Temples?
The A&F store made me feel old. Not that me at any age would have enjoyed it, but cringing at loud music and crowds, it definitely made me feel older. I've had this realization recently - I'm not as young as I used to be. College seems so far away. I'm not the youngest person at work anymore. I'm no longer a candidate for prodigy-dom. And I'm too old to date Ron Weasley, which is a real bummer.
I really must go back to where I came from: the well-lit color-coordinated neatly-spaced grown up and mature world of J.Crew, American Apparel, and Banana Republic.
Oh, and let me give you guys a tip: if your sister compliments your belt numerous times, it actually does not necessarily mean she wants a belt too. Please remember this. Or else you'll have to go back to the Abercrombie & Fitch Rave to return it. And this would interrupt the healing process of Abercrombie-induced post-traumatic stress disorder. And that too, would be a bummer.
I thought of this phrase, this sentiment, recently - when I found myself at the new Abercrombie & Fitch store on Fifth Avenue. As I experienced the hellaciousness of this store, I actually thought to myself Susan, go back to where you came from. I didn't belong there.
A little background as to why I went to the Abercrombie & Fitch store in the first place - I needed to get a birthday present for a friend and I was looking for a belt for my sister. Midtown is an area that I rarely visit. I really hardly ever shop in the fancy Fifth Ave/Madison Ave zone. I'm kind of afraid of department stores and I get overwhelmed by the crowds of tourists and the prices for the shiny things in the windows that I will probably never be able to afford. But I decided to be brave. Big mistake. Huge.
The store was ridiculously CROWDED (genius that I am, I decided to go on a Saturday) and loud and dark and the women's clothing was in weird unfolded clumps spread out on all three floors. No one who worked there knew where anything was - they were focused on posing and being boringly purty. Also, there were these weird plants everywhere and more than once I had a near Little Shop of Horrors death-by-plant experience.
The New York Times even ran an article about the store recently. Here are some excerpts:
"Inside, the lighting is a moody chiaroscuro, and the music thumps at such high volume that you have to shout to be heard."
"...shopping at the flagship store is among the more unpleasant experiences to be had in usually retail-friendly Manhattan."
"ATMOSPHERE -- Marquee without the cocktails."
As most of you know, I'm not a big club person to begin with. But if I go to one, it's by choice. Last Saturday, the only choice I made was to buy a t-shirt and a belt. I didn't realize what this would entail - stupid me hadn't read the Times article yet. Some of the A&F clothing used to be okay. Before they wrote "Abercrombie" in giant letters across every garment and/or some dumbass phrase. And before they shrunk everything to lilliputian size so that even the sweaters are cropped. They really should serve cocktails there, it would lessen the deafening blow of the techno music and the fact that it was too dark to find anything and it would allow the many teenage shoppers (in the midst of the awkward stage) to drown their sorrows as they are surrounded by scantily-clad retail employees-turned-models. How about spiked Shirley Temples?
The A&F store made me feel old. Not that me at any age would have enjoyed it, but cringing at loud music and crowds, it definitely made me feel older. I've had this realization recently - I'm not as young as I used to be. College seems so far away. I'm not the youngest person at work anymore. I'm no longer a candidate for prodigy-dom. And I'm too old to date Ron Weasley, which is a real bummer.
I really must go back to where I came from: the well-lit color-coordinated neatly-spaced grown up and mature world of J.Crew, American Apparel, and Banana Republic.
Oh, and let me give you guys a tip: if your sister compliments your belt numerous times, it actually does not necessarily mean she wants a belt too. Please remember this. Or else you'll have to go back to the Abercrombie & Fitch Rave to return it. And this would interrupt the healing process of Abercrombie-induced post-traumatic stress disorder. And that too, would be a bummer.
posted by Susan Goldberg at 2:21 PM
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