Walking through the large glass door I knew I wasn’t going to find anything at Intermix. The wavy racks sparsely filled with overpriced clothing stretched out before me and even though I knew it would garner disapproval from the shop girls, I went straight to the sales rack.
In my all-black casual garb of Hard Tails and Havianas it was obvious that I was going in there for one purpose: browse the end of season sale rack. I didn’t even bother “browsing” the full price items; because Intermix is a mean girl.
Unapproachable, coolly cordial to those who she sees as her own kind and dismissive to the rest. She has long shiny hair and I am wearing glasses and haven’t showered today. So no, I would not bring my lunch tray over to her table, I would just cruise past and glance instead.
Yesterday I’d been in Scoop at Wheatley Plaza, Intermix’s approachable sister. The nice girl in the group who knows she wouldn’t be all that popular if other mean girls hadn’t paved the way and allowed for her to wear the same costume without having to claim her position by force. There I felt at home. There I let them start a fitting room. Still, I didn’t get anything, but at least I didn’t feel insulted.
After finding less than nothing from the 20 or 30 items in the sale rack, mind you that this number includes multiples so it took me all of 3 minutes, I walked out past a cougar in a mini dress that she would surely wear to Glo, or Four, or Blackstones on a Thursday, all I could do was laugh.
After all the shopping, and the studying of designers in the “Contemporary” department, and reading magazines like textbooks, I’m still not one of them.
And damn proud of it.