Why I Hate Anthropologie and the Women Who Shop There

For the record, I bear no ill will toward the study of human societies and cultures. The Anthropologie to which I am referring is the upscale chain boutique that boasts an alarmingly high-priced stock of boho chic women’s clothing, accessories and home decor.

To further muddle things – I recently made the startling realization that I don’t actually hate Anthropologie the store either. For starters, I own a couple of sales rack items I found there when I’ve stumbled into the boutique on occasion. And while I’m being nakedly honest, if I hated the women who shop there, then my social network would shrink considerably if not downright disappear.

Sorry for the confusion – but please hear me out.

Despite the fact that I’ve been telling people for years that I hate Anthropologie, it’s not the flowy blouses nor the kitschy drawer pulls that I dislike – it’s the sinking feeling I get when I overhear people talking about the store. Suddenly, I’m sent down a rabbit hole that takes me back to 1987. I’m back in junior high where the fashion conversation revolves around Swatch watches (complete with the rubbery coloured bands to protect the faces), pastel slouch socks with matchy-matchy earrings, Lacoste t-shirts with the telltale alligator announcing to the world that you spent upwards of $50 (that was a lot of money in those days!) for a flimsy shirt, Edwin french cut jeans and Vuarnet pullovers – long-sleeved, short-sleeved – no matter so long as there was the giant V logo within a circle, then you were in the clear.

Way back when, I learned a difficult life lesson the hard way – I could shop at the right stores and even buy the right things – and I still might not fit in. In fact, I might still be made to feel lesser than, I might still be bullied by the so-called cool kids, I might still be consistently ostracized and ignored (if I was lucky) and called names and physically shoved (if I was unlucky).

Of course my parents knew this lesson already and they painstakingly tried to get me to understand. Many of our one-sided conversations during that time began with: “Do you really want to be friends with kids who care what type of brand name clothing you own?” or “True friends don’t care about the clothes you wear.”

But what did they know?

If I could only find the perfectly trendy, on-point, matching, pastel-coloured ensemble, then all would be well. In fact, I knew there was a hidden outfit combination I just hadn’t yet discovered – perhaps at Cotton Ginny or Kettle Creek or at United Colors of Benetton – and once I found it, it would be the missing puzzle piece I needed to fit in. Casters would fall into place and my life would change for the better.

My father, a frugal man, couldn’t understand why I would want to spend $70 of my hard-earned newspaper route money on a Ralph Lauren long-sleeved button-down polo shirt. And if he didn’t get it, then there was no sense in me trying to explain. By the way, this shirt still hangs in my closet – it cost me $70 for chrissakes!

Like most kids, I gradually became more comfortable in my own skin. Once in high school, I became part of a good group of friends. I started working part-time to continue funding the brand name clothing I just had to make mine but I also learned to become thrifty by sussing out knock-offs and sometimes even the real deal across the border at TJ Maxx.

But somewhere between the teen years and full-blown adulthood, things went off the rails. I pushed things too far, wires got crossed and paradigms shifted out of reach. I went from coveting specific brand names because of their popularity and all-around trendiness to despising them for the very same reasons.

My husband has pointed it out to me time and time again: “Do you notice that you automatically hate whatever is considered popular or in style? If everyone has it or wants it – then you refuse to go near it.” I brushed his words off.

I mean, it’s not my fault if I’m my own woman – one who knows her own tastes, popularity be damned. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that (and these are very difficult words to type) my husband was right.

As soon as rainy season hits, the torrent of women around me don their Hunter Boots. But there is no $200 pair of glorified galoshes (in a glossy or matte finish no less) for me. There’s no Canada Goose parka warming me up in my near future. Lululemon? I haven’t even stepped foot inside a lululemon store before. I’m not a shoe girl, purse girl or jewellery girl.

And my house does not look like it comes out of the pages of a magazine – unless there’s a magazine called Mediocre Housekeeping.

In short, I am my own woman who knows what she likes (all things 80s) and what she dislikes (apparently all things popular). And really, how is hating something because it’s popular any different than loving something for the very same reason?

Once I made this realization and began to pay close attention to my thought processes, I started to scare myself. What percentage of my likes and dislikes are because I actually feel strongly in a certain direction – and how much of it is pre-ordained in my mind simply due to a random majority? How many times have I caught myself admiring a sweater on someone and then upon noticing the swishy little lululemon logo admonish myself: You hate lululemon, remember?!

Don’t get me wrong. It’s okay to be different and go against the grain. I encourage anyone and everyone (especially my children) to embrace difference in all areas of life. But if you are choosing an alternate path only because it happens to be the alternate path, is this the best way to make a decision?

Once upon a time, I learned the hard way that brand name clothing was not my ticket to true and lasting friendships. And so I developed my own method for ensuring that the people I chose to have in my life were there for the right reasons. In a way, I’ve been testing my friends for all these years; conducting my own personal social experiment to ensure I have surrounded myself with people who are not shallow and who appreciate and value difference in others. Will they still like me if I’m not wearing the latest fashion? If I don’t own a cellphone? If my roots are showing? If my jeans are off-brand? If my flip-flops come from Joe Fresh? If my main wardrobe staple is comprised of 80s iron-on t-shirts?

Even after all this time, I am still desperate to be included, to be appreciated, to be part of a good group of friends. But it cannot be because of how I dress or what I wear. I went through that once before and there’s no way in hell I’m ever going back!

So now what? Well I’ve made the realization. Now it’s time to dissect my likes and dislikes to ensure they are legitimate and not arbitrarily decided because of a road less travelled. I also recognize that when it comes to me and my friends – we have an understanding. I won’t judge them for equating spending top dollar with quality or for practicing thriftiness by sniffing out bargains or for spending a lot of time and money on their appearance (and looking great) or for spending little to no money on their appearance (and also looking great) or for shopping at Anthropologie or lululemon. And they won’t judge me for driving a rusty, old minivan and wearing my 80s tees.

They never did.

It was me doing the judging . . . just me, always me.