In, Literally, Fashion
It seems like just three hours ago that the Stella McCartney line arrived at H&M. Oh, it
was just three hours ago. But it might as well be a dream from yesteryear cuz that sh*t is all sold out now, snoozers.
That was maybe the most crazy scene in which I've ever found myself. b*tches were grabbing and yelling, and some photographer kept flashing in my face, capturing my lovely expression, which I'm sure was a mixture of grasping greed and total fear. Some dude flexed on a mannequin and it went crashing to the ground. Near the front window, a group of ladies decided to forego trying to negotiate the racks and opted to start clawing the clothing off the mannequins. Store employees rushed over to pry their fingers from the cheap silk, the mannequins now standing disheveled, plastic nippel-less breasts exposed for all Michigan Avenue to see. The situation around the center table (upon which all the skinny-fit jeans had been piled) was not unlike
Heysel stadium, where we enacted some bizarro game of
Pit, all wild hand gestures and cracking "I got a Small, who's got an Extra Small? I need an Extra Small, I'll trade you? What do you have? Oh a medium? WHO HAS AN EXTRA SMALL?!?!" Most remarkably, over all the din was the booming voice of a friendly employee pleading "Ladies? Ladies? WHOSE CHILDREN ARE THESE?" in reference to a double-stroller that had been ditched in a corner, containing two little motherless and sobbing toddlers.
But really, kids, you think you're cryin' now, just wait until Mommy doesn't get her chainlink belt and has to work her anger out on somebody.
Women are so awesomely weird.
Posted by sarahb at November 10, 2005 01:06 PM | Comments (4)