Store Spotlight: Behind Enemy Lines at Abercrombie

I have not been inside for a solid decade. I vaguely remember being thirteen and desperately wanting something with a moose on it to wear to middle school; and when I bought those bright green sweatpants, it was in an entirely different location somewhere downstairs in the mall. Ever since the store moved upstairs and permanently closed its shutters, everything but the foremost mural of a shirtless man has been a mystery to me… until now.

Had I forgotten where exactly A&F now stood, I would have known I was near when I caught the scent, which I joke you not, was three stores away. Former employees tell of hourly mistings with perfume in that store, and it shows (much to the chagrin of my nose.) As I reach the storefront I muse that perhaps they misunderstood and thought this store was going to be outside, since it has an awning and shutters, which are invariably closed. Unperturbed by that members-only aspect, I venture within.

So clueless am I that I have to cast quick glances just to see which side is women’s. Thus found, I walk that way, squinting to adjust my eyes to the dimness. Why the store must be that dark is beyond me; they probably didn’t even notice when Hurricane Irene threw the power out. A salesgirl greets me as I’m gingerly touching some shirts like an undercover detective. The staff is polite enough, and each passing employee says hello, but only by way of shouting, which the blasting music necessitates. It is slightly unnerving to have someone three feet away scream, “HI HOW ARE YOU DOING?”

Nerves frayed, I press on. The store itself, it must be said, is cool.  Everything is very dark wood with crisp white accenting. Décor accords with their products’ style, very Americana. Club chairs and worn rugs strewn about give the feeling of a cabin, and the insularity lent by the closed quarters does in fact create a distinct experience. When I find the room with the register, nestled at the center like the Minotaur in the labyrinth, there is a giant canoe overhead and a huge stuffed moose head on the wall over the cashiers. 

The clothes themselves are not bad.  Yes, there are the requisite sweatpants and logo tees (for $30 a pop, which only teenagers are wont to pay for such a thing). But there are also pieces that could work for someone with a high school degree: schoolboy blazers, chunky knit sweaters, nice jeans. The prices aren’t even as outlandish as I remembered, running about $60 for a sweater and $70 for jeans.  For those of us past our school days, the signature varsity style is nostalgic and classic.

The overall takeaway was that A&F is very staunchly a youth-oriented store, built not on quality or affordability but on the currency of cool.  For most of my excursion there I was the oldest person in sight at 23, until a middle-aged mom corralling three squealing tweens passed by and shared a smile of relief and commiseration with me. If you can pass the trials of odor, volume, and dimness and make it through the store though, there are in fact worthy prizes to be had.