Don't get me wrong. If the nebulous phenomenon that is my fashion aesthetic somehow transformed into an actual clothing store, it would most likely appear as something quite similar to Anthropologie's endless racks of adorable dresses, soft lacy blouses, and vintage-inspired jackets (but not the gothic-themed bedrooms that dominate their furniture section--I prefer my sleeping quarters more Marilyn Monroe than Marilyn Manson). I'm not exaggerating (and really, have I ever exaggerated on this blog?) when I say I want to buy basically every item in the store.
My problem with Anthro (we're close enough friends that I can call it that) is their sale section. My friend Rachel and I made the mistake of entering the store to browse yesterday without having previously procured a massive inheritance or Powerball jackpot. With each flip of a pricetag, our morale sank lower and lower until we were taking turns holding up $60 tanktops, shrieking, "What a deal!" and laughing in the way that people do when it's the only alternative to sobbing uncontrollably. We spent like twenty minutes stroking this dress and wishing that little Wal-Mart smiley face thing would bounce over and knock a number off the price, but the little bastard never came:
Finally, one of us had the brilliant idea to check out the sale section, and we gleefully cantered across the store in hopes of finding impossibly great deals on impossibly cute things.
Yeah, that didn't happen.
Now, I'd love to hear from Anthropologie shoppers in other cities to see if this is a normal practice, but at least in the Portland location, the sale section is seriously a dank, dark room in the very back of the store. It is the most depressing place you will ever visit, unless of course you've spent time in an underground midieval torture chamber. This place so resembled a dungeon that as I was browsing through the hideous sweaters they'd decided to put on condesale (did that work? like, "condescend" combined with "sale." get it? okay that didn't really work...), I half expected an iron door to drop down and angry vikings to appear outside pointing at us and saying things like, "Exterminate them immediately to cure the wretched disease of poverty!" And to make matters worse, the only thing I could afford, even in the sale dungeon, was this horrible bent-up chunky knit headband that still cost like $25.
I must point out that the sale section on anthropologie.com is high-priced but delightful, with semi-good deals (and by "semi-good deals" I mean "still not even near my price range") on impossibly cute things and no angry vikings in sight, and again, I'm not sure if the sale quarantine is a nationwide occurrence or just a Portland issue. But for good measure, if there's an Anthropologie representative reading this, I'll take the above dress in a size 10 for all my trouble. And a size 6 for Rachel too. On the double now, chop chop!