======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
With my Nordstrom, Anthropologie, and White House Black Market bags in tow, I successfully avoid eye contact with the Lebanese guy asking to see my hands and follow some teenage girls wearing t-shirts down to their ankles into what I still considered to be my favorite store. God, I can’t wait until the day they look back on this and realize how fucking stupid they look. I wonder if they know the “trend” they’re so obsessed with was popularized by slutty college girls doing the walk of shame. I mentally envision myself going undercover at their high school to change their ways a la “Never Been Kissed.” I’d totally fit in. I’m 26, I’m basically still in high school. Those girls are probably wondering why they’ve never seen me at school right now.
I’m overwhelmed as I enter the realm of semi-organized chaos, Forever 21. God, I love Forever. I always sort of felt a sense of uneasy peace when I walked in if that makes any sense. Everything was always a disaster, but I could buy whatever I wanted here, and God dammit, I would. I mean, fuck it. I’m young, and it’s not like I could shop like this forever. Might as well do it now.
Where to begin? Dude section, gym section (ha), fat girl section, slutty children section, here it is. The “normal” clothes for trendy young girls like me. I immediately gravitate toward a safari green romper for $14.90. God, everything is so cheap here. Why do I even bother shopping anywhere else? I’m not TRULY a Nordstrom girl. My mom adds the possessive S for fuck’s sake. This is where I belong.
I continue to meander past a set of denim overalls that I decide are cute, but for my intern, because I don’t think you can pull off MK&A circa “Brother For Sale” outfits once you’re on your own insurance. I grab a slutty dress made so poorly that it disintegrates in my hand upon touching it. That’s fine. I prefer happy hour and day drinking to staying out until last call anyway. I’d have nowhere to wear a mesh plunging V. I consider a few crop tops, but I don’t think it makes sense to wear a shirt if you don’t really understand what it says. Plus I still need to lose those 10 pounds I gained four years ago before I wear a crop top. I almost grab a pleather skater skirt, but can’t bring myself to wear fake leather. I’m a grownup, after all, and I pretend to work hard for my money — I can splurge on real leather. This dress is too tacky. That skirt is too tiny. Those pants are too weird. And suddenly I realize I’ve already walked through the whole store.
I do a second lap, thinking surely I must have missed something. Is it even possible to go into a Forever 21 fitting room without making some lame joke with the attendant that you “just couldn’t limit it to six items — and oh my God, I could never pull off blue hair (because I have a real job). Did your tregus piercing hurt?” Alas, I take my romper and head on in. I step outside the fitting room and stand in front of the bigger mirror beside some 19-year-old tanorexic blonde girl, who’s wondering if she should sleep with Mike because he liked her selfie on Instagram.
I look like Snuffleupagus with cameltoe. Why is everything here so tiny here? What if you’re tall? Can you just not shop here? Tanorexic’s 5’10” friend walks out of the fitting room with half a cheek hanging out of a similar romper. She’s killing it. Not a single dimple to be found. “You should totally sleep with him. He’s like in love with you, and I think his dad’s a lawyer.” I don’t even pretend not to stare.
I debate suicide for three minutes, before remembering I have dinner with my boyfriend’s mom tomorrow. I’m really pulling for a ring, and my sudden demise would probably delay things. He’d love that wouldn’t he — a new excuse not to commit. I think I’ll pick up a rotisserie chicken tonight, and casually remind him that my eggs are slowly rotting with each passing day. Too dejected to even look at the jewelry that would inevitably break after two wears, I leave the store empty-handed for what must be the tenth consecutive time.
It’s time for me to admit something to myself. I’m too old for Forever 21, because despite what they say, no one is FOREVER 21 years old. Forever 21 is selling trashier clothes, and the store which once outfitted me every day for under $400 a year is now beneath me. I’m onto bigger and better things, like spending my entire paycheck at overpriced boutiques where the girls give me champagne while I shop, because fuck it. I’m young. And it’s not like I can shop like this forever..
Image via March Marcho / Shutterstock.com
Respond
Veronica
Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is a writer, editor and content manager for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Veronica has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays.
@VeronicaRuckh
@VeronicaRuckh
vmruckh
I don’t mean to be completely offensive like the article I just unfortunately stumbled upon, but this is quite possibly the most unintelligent waste of time column I have ever read, masked with a bit of wittyness. What self respecting woman calls any female a slut, let alone teenagers? Do you find it appropriate to label a section of the store “fat girl” section? This is just an article about what seems to be how unnecessarily pretentious and oblivious you are. Some woman aren’t as fabulous as you and can not afford to shop at boutiques with absurd price mark ups. You claim to be too old for forever 21, so act like it.
Yes thank you! I almost stopped reading after that “fat girl section” comment. Just one judgmental remark after the other. You should think again before you call this store and the people in it “beneath” you.
Beautiful reply!
THANK YOU, this comment is perfect
Thank you for this comment!!! I signed up for an account just to comment on this article and how HORRIBLE it was. Your reply says it perfectly though.
To the author.. I never care enough to waste my time commenting on these things but your article definitely made me stop and do just that. How can you be So rude and judgmental when you are Currently shopping there?! Also, calling an area of the store the “fat girl” section was probably the rudest thing you said. I hope you read all these comments and realized how you come off. No one needs to shop at some over priced store just because they arent in HS anymore.. Also I would like to point out that I have a lip ring, pink hair, and tattoos but never that didn’t stop me from getting a “real job”.
Calls plus sized clothes the “fat section”. Complains how everything in the “normal section” is too small for her.
I thought it was hilarious. It’s tongue in cheek of course. all of you don’t need to take yourselves so seriously now that you’ve got that degree!! Bet you’re all fat girls. Haha.. Just kidding. Wow
How come clicking on “Nice work” puts a minus number on the commentor’s comment?
This was a horribly written and offensive article. Girl you are 26, that’s 8 years post high school. You are so full of yourself it’s comical, you think those girls you trash assume you are still in high school? A bit full of ourselves aren’t we? You trash others styles as if you have never worn something questionable and your statement about the shopping bags you are carrying just make you sound like you are bragging and spoiled. Not to mention you labeled parts of the store the “fat” section. I hope you didn’t get paid for this article, either way, complaints need to be made to whoever runs this webpage because they have an awful, rude, aggressive, name calling “journalist” making their website look bad. Grandex inc should probably also be made aware they have a hypocritical judgmental nasty little girl on their pay roll.
I clicked on this article hoping it was about someone consciously deciding to boycott Forever 21 after the recent attention they had received for their usage of sweatshops. I was disappointed to find it was little more than a girl complaining about a bad shopping experience. There is nothing of substance here that needed to be put on the internet and shared with the rest of the world.
I hate those underage sluts…I can no longer oogle at 19 year old sluts because now they are 15 year old sluts and I can’t tell the difference…I’m too handsome to go to jail.
Creepy as this comment is I have to respect your complete lack of chill.
I only created an account here to tell you how much I love your username, you Anti-Jenny you.
High risk = high reward
…I don’t think that applies here
on a further note, the only thing f21 is good for anymore is buy trashy dresses for Vegas trips.
I related to this article. I’ve been to 1 F21 that appealed to all ages, but most don’t. Imo, there’s nothing worse than seeing a 40 year old wearing an outfit meant for a teen.
My girlfriend (humblebrag) is the store manager at a large Houston-area Forever 21 and it is one of the most God-awful places I’ve ever been.
I hope she doesn’t see this.
Is your girlfriend jean hantman? I hope not.
I’m not old enough to date someone named Jean.
To the editor: Thank you for removing the grammatical error from this article. I wish we could have discussed why my original comment offended you before you deleted it. I promise not to post any more comments about why I considered former employees (who shall remain nameless) to be more attentive than your current editorial staff. Clearly my opinion was misguided and I’m sure you’re all great people. Please don’t ban me, as this is a hard user name to come by.
R/,
Taco
“This is a copyrighted comment for the private use of our audience. Any rebroadcast, retransmission, or other use of the pictures, descriptions, or accounts of this comment without the express written consent of Major League Baseball is prohibited.”
I actually can’t bring myself to set foot in a Forever21. I worked at a two-floor store and it makes my palms instantly sweaty when I hear the name or walk by. Gag.