“What a cute dress! Where’d you get it?”

When your love of fast fashion puts you in hot water…

A few weeks ago I stopped into the plus size section of Forever 21. I was enamored by this polaroid photo dress that gave me non-creepy Terry Richardson vibes. I bought it. I felt like Edie in The Factory and nobody could tell me nothing. This dress was turning heads. Ladies stopped to tell me how cute it is and to ask if I made it. Suddenly the conversation took a dark turn when a woman in line at Starbucks asked me where I had gotten it from and I gleefully responded “Oh, at Forever 21!”

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The following events have been slightly dramatized for effect (emphasis on slightly).



The woman in line at Starbucks in turn threw her head back and let out a guffaw as I had never heard before. “I don’t believe it!” She said shaking her head.

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This woman did nothing to ease my discomfort. Am I a poser for shopping the lawsuit-heavy fast fashion retailer? A company targeted at a younger demographic (I’m almost 30!)

I crawled into an imaginary fetal position in my mind and vowed never to repeat the origins of the dress again.

So by the time I had hopped on the train I had concocted a new story that would save face had I met another judgmental hipster. I couldn’t say I made the dress since I flunked out of Mood’s free sewing class twice. My only other option was to lie tremendously.

I was prepared when the woman sitting next to me on the N train showered my dress with praise. “Oh my God I love this dress! Are these your photos?” I shook my head no. “Where did you get this?! I love it.” I smiled and said thank you. Maybe I could get away with this without lying. “No I need to know where you got this.” She persisted.

“Some small boutique in the city!” I offered.

“No way! I gotta take a picture. Can I take a picture?” I eyed her questionably but agreed sweetly. “Maybe if I post it on Facebook my friends can identify the store.”

I froze in my seat. My eyes darted for the subway stops display planning my escape. Out of the corner of my eye I saw tiny red notifications pop up on her feed. My life flashed before my eyes.

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When I was younger, I always wondered what it would feel like before I  died. Never did I think it would be on a semi-crowded Manhattan bound N train. At least my funeral attire would be cute.

“The next stop is Times Square – 42nd Street!”  I grabbed my things and headed for the door wishing for the platform to make a speedy appearance. With one last look over my shoulders my investigator peeked up from her phone and made direct eye contact with me.

I waved goodbye and hopped off the train to freedomville where I could breathe a sigh of relief and relax in style.