I’m going to openly admit that I’m not the most fashionable person in the world. There is some sick and twisted side of me that still thinks I can resurrect my high school wardrobe of Abercrombie polo’s and various tennis skirts, even though 63% of the people I know would stop speaking to me. The other 37% I wouldn’t trust.
However back in the day even I, the Jappy-ass hooker in training, had the fashion sense to not wear certain brands. These included but were not restricted to, Aeropostale, Bebe, Rue 21, Wet Seal, and of course Forever 21. I have problems with these stores cuts, sizes, and most of all, quality. If something is going to pill and then consequently burst into flames when you throw it in the dryer, it’s not worth purchasing. No matter how cheap it is, or how the nice gay sales-man complimented how it fit your muffin top in the dressing room. I’m more of a GAP or J Crew type of person, because lets face it I aspire to the alcoholic New Englander lifestyle. You can’t say I’m not driven.
But now I’m getting off topic. One of my bosses graciously sent out an open invite to the Forever 21 Times Square Launch Party, and not being one to turn down a guaranteed free open bar, ended up RSVP’ing with Brittany and forcibly dragging Carlo along for the ride.
Carlo and I showed somewhat on time, pushing aside all of the Canon-toting tourists in Times Square and going into what looked like a completely empty and huge Forever 21. Once inside, we were directed towards the escalator, where we were instructed to go to the very bottom where the event was being held. Sadly I don’t remember how many floors there were, little things like that and my brothers birthday tend to slip my mind. Once downstairs we immediately went to the bar where Carlo was immediately hit on by the waitstaff, whether it was directed towards him or his brand new iphone 4 is irrelevant. We both ordered champagne then and throughout the rest of the night, as I had carefully inspected the fancy drinks the bar was offering, and they had no alcohol in them. That’s about as worthless as decaffeinated coffee, or a stripper with morals.
After about an hour of drinking and people watching, the fashion show began and it was actually quite lovely. If I had seen those clothes I would not have assumed they were from Forever 21, however I’m sure I would have not seen them worn on models dressed as sprites and wood nymphs. Especially since I quit smoking.
Along with the champagne, Carlo and I were grabbing as many pieces of mini-steak and tomato-mozzarella skewers as humanly possible. He hadn’t eaten dinner, and I’m just a fat ass. At this point Brit had appeared by some form of midget-like magic. She had successfully returned from apartment hunting, and was pleased to say she wouldn’t have to be sleeping on my floor in the coming weeks.
We listened to a band play and milled about the event floor, as it was a truly beautiful and open space, especially for such coveted Times Square real estate. When the band called it quits, we decided to head above ground and return to Hells Kitchen because Brit wanted frozen yogurt and I wanted to heat up an insufferable packet of Indian food. On the way out we were given F21 totes containing gift cards, an umbrella, shirts, and nail polish. Considering my point of intoxication and undying love for free things, I was quite ecstatic.
All in all it was a lovely time, and although I don’t plan on shopping at Forever 21 frequently (or at all) I will not judge them as harshly as I previously have. Especially since I woke up the next morning clutching an entire mango, judging anything or anyone is out of the question.
No comments:
Post a Comment