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!”
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.
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.
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.