Oh yes, I went to the mall yesterday. It was a very boring day; I went shopping and bought seven items of clothing. Shopping while feminist is a difficult task, because if a particular item of clothing isn’t manufactured in a sweatshop, the brand pulls a PETA and markets their products with the objectification of women. Only one of my purchases was vaguely ethical and it has already been “borrowed” by my sister; I suspect I shall never see it again.
So we roamed from shop to shop and all of ‘em had clothes that looked exactly the same. The clothing shops could be divided into two general categories, cheap teenage clothes and department stores. There are a few keys differences between the two; the former has t-shirts twenty dollars cheaper while the latter has in-store toilets. Of course, just to shake things up, there was the occasional sports store which had the same clothes with different necklines.
No matter which store I went into, all the women’s clothes had something in common: they were being attacked. Hordes of frills joined forces with armies of ruffles. Regiments of unnecessary buttons combined with squadrons of bows. It was terrible, and the merchant companies containing nameless hybrids turned it into a slaughter.
I hate malls. They are fluorescent hellholes containing layers of cheap crap from China for the delectation of a loud and smelly crowd. I can only console myself with the fact that it isn’t as bad as America, which has the same set up; only the scale is measured in square kilometres.
What did I learn from the experience? Well, if you’re fat then you might as well jump off a cliff. Seriously, the word fat is used in female change rooms more than any other. The dread with which it is spoken makes the word sound like some combination of “evil” and “unfuckable”. I guess I could talk about how I learned important fashion rules, but to me it sounded like malicious sprites put the names of colours and random clothing into a random rule generator.
In summary: malls suck.