I recently spent some time at the mall. It’s something I vigorously try to avoid, but I have a teenage daughter and that complicates my efforts. It seems teenage girls’ life-blood springs directly from the mall, or they can buy it there or something. I don’t know. I try not to get too involved. I just know teen girls must go to the mall frequently or they’ll die. And, considering we were having mid-winter break (because two weeks of winter break apparently isn’t enough), and The Kid racked up a good amount of gift cards over the Christmas season, I agreed to take her. I also had to go to the Mac store, which was the true reason for the excursion, because my laptop appears to be dying a slow, painful and rather inexplicable death, and I fear it’s going to crash and burn at any moment, leaving me with nothing but the smoking, charred remains of my cumulative life’s work at which point I’ll have to stab myself repeatedly through the heart, so we went.
After Julio told me there was basically nothing wrong with my Mac upon running his inadequate diagnostic tests because I know my computer is possessed by a demon force and is about to blow Julio was just unable – no matter how genius he is and I do believe he believes himself to be genius – to detect it, we left and headed for that hallowed retail ground of teenage youth, H&M.
I don’t know what’s happened in the fashion industry in the past decade or so, but they seem to have abandoned all basic design principles. Like the clothing should look good. In H&M among numerous other stores my daughter and her teenage comrades frequent (although H&M is the top offender. Remember when they first broke onto the scene? What happened?) I found some rather disturbing fashion trends, and they need to stop. Now.
My daughter pulled this little number off the rack and looked at me with pleading eyes. I said no. I wasn’t spending good money on something that looked like a little, old lady with very dated fashion sense playing shuffleboard on the Lido deck of a cruise ship headed to Puerto Vallarta might be wearing.
Plus, my Grandma had a couch in that fabric once.
Then I saw this. I think Jan from the Brady Bunch wore this outfit when they went on their Hawaiian vacation.
Seriously, did they drag this outfit out of set storage from Fantasy Island? It’s straight out of 1970. And it didn’t even look good then. Have we learned nothing?
Ah, I remember this wallpaper from my grandmother’s bedroom fondly.
Now that we’ve taken a walk through the horribly misguided 70’s, we enter the 80’s.
My husband once had a sweater like the one on the left when I first met him, only in electric blue. I immediately made him get rid of it.
My eyes nearly broke when I saw this.
Is this meant to be ironic? Please tell me it’s meant to be ironic.
I don’t think it’s meant to be ironic.
Even if it is, it’s so hideous why would the fashion-conscious teenage masses want to wear it? Are they even aware it’s meant to be ironic? Most of the references on the clothes predate the kids. They have no idea what the hell a Furby even is. Or who The Rolling Stones or Jimi Hendrix or Pink Floyd, whose album covers grace t-shirts in teen stores, are for that matter.
Finally, I give you this.
Why, teenage girls? Why?
Powered by Facebook Comments