You Look Like A Girl From Ambercrombie & Fitch…

Like you, I am a fan of the LFO song that goes: you look like a girl from Ambercrombie & Fitch. It is one of my favorite’s on the nights when I feel the need to eat bags of cool ranch Dorritos and watch YouTube Videos from my youth. Of course, since I grew up in Jamaica, and wore only Banana Republic thanks to Ali, my boarding school roommate, I never had the chance to really understand what it meant to BE a girl from Ambercrombie & Fitch. In my head, I just pictured some All-American type with blond hair and blue eyes, carrying an apple pie and waving an American flag. It seemed about right. The guys in the LFO band were tall and strapping, from what I saw, and I simply imagined their female counterpart being basically the same. Probably a tad bustier and thicker-thighed.

For the first real time, this week, I was strolling in the mall in Miami, when I saw the sign for Ambercrombie & Fitch. I was with a friend who wanted to buy a pair of jeans, so when she suggested we try A&F, I happily complied, singing silently in my head ‘New Kids on the Block had a bunch of hits, Chinese food makes me sick…’

 

In a word, A&F was dark. Not dark, as in sinister, like the joker from Batman, but actually, literally dark. As in, there was a distinct absence of light in the store. Like a fool, I grabbed the first tiny shirt I saw hanging on the rack and announced to my friend that we must have mistakenly entered a children’s store. “Only pre-pubestant boys could fit into something this size,” I announced with a sense of absolute certainty. As the words were coming out of my mouth, however, the tiniest adult female appeared at my friend’s side. It took me a full minute to realize that she wasn’t a nine year old that consumed too many chicken hormones, and actually an adult. 

“Welcome to Ambercrombie, can I help you?” the woman/ elf asked. She had lips that seemed to pout, most unnaturally, and eyes that were too big and bright for her face. Her cascading brown hair shone under the recessed, dim, lighting. Her shorts could’ve easily fit a child’s doll. I am a short girl, standing five feet, two inches, yet still I towered over the sales girl. I was immediately struck with the feeling that my friend and I were big, oafish giants, a feeling that only grew stronger the longer we lingered next to the sales girl. I knew for sure, this girl had never seen an apple pie in her life.

“…and I think it’s fly when girls stop by for the summer, for the summer…”

My friend and I both eyed the living doll suspiciously. What kind of parents give their nine year old lips and breast implants, then lock her in a basement to starve to death, so she can fit into these dolly clothes? I was outraged at the state of parenthood in America. Shouldn’t someone report her parents? Surely the store manager must notice something is wrong? 

 

That’s when I saw them. Three more equally sized dolls. They seemed pale and gasping for breath as they sprained their wrists, folding tiny pants, and toddler sized sweaters. Oh, the inhumanity! I turned to my friend in all seriousness: ‘We have to escape this place. Look what living in this cave does to people! They turn into grungy polly pockets!’ 

More troubling was the temperature. These tiny dolls were running around in itsy-bitsy shorts, while my friend and I were dressed in long pants and sweaters. It seemed like in their pursuit for ‘perfection’ these A&F salesgirls actually drained the blood from their bodies. Are these the girls that the LFO guys waited all year to find? These sixty-pound, big lipped, faked boobed girls? 

Then, like a miracle, a normal sized girl emerged behind the check-out counter, with a very somber expression. Normal sized meaning, she was still half my size, but had a large enough body to house all the necessary organs, unlike her co-workers. 

“They probably tease the shit out of her,” my friend remarked with a smirk, searching the rack for the largest pair of jeans in the store: a size 6.

“Yeah, she’s the only one who takes lunch. The rest probably exist on a pack of menthol cigarettes and Gas-X,” I agreed. “Poor thing, probably goes to sleep with thoughts of bulimia dancing through her dreams.”

All I can say is, LFO has got problems. This is probably why their career fizzled out back in the late nineties. 

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One response to this post.

  1. Next book in the making Amanda?

    Reply

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