As you read this blog, I must warn that you will find, honest thoughts, ambitions, and hopes from my mind.
Today, I went off into Exeter and ventured through the Princesshay mall. For those of you who don’t know Exeter, the Princesshay is a shopping mall that contains all the beautiful designer shops. A dangerous place for students with big dreams and little sense of money.
I dressed up for the occasion, naturally. You can’t turn up at a place like that dressed in full Primark gear. I went for my Crew Clothing shirt and Gilly Hicks cardigan and strode out of my house, expecting to fit in with the designer crowd of Exeter.
I have always been fairly sceptical of designer clothes. What is the point in buying expensive clothes that have a tiny bird or a few letters or a symbol on when you could get the same for half the price without it? Yes, they are of a better quality, but surely those shops cannot be that amazing?
Readers, you know me by now, and yes, yet again, I was wrong. Designer shops are of a whole other kind to the usual shops of actually affordable items of clothing. But it isn’t just the shocking prices that makes these shops so different – it’s a whole new breed. One shop I visited was Hollister, and I fell in love.
As you approach a Hollister shop, you know from a distance that you are nearing a Royal Family member of the designer shops clan. Forget plain walls with a simple sign depicting the shop name and a few mannequins in the window. Two giant screens playing clips of California beaches are on either side of a darkened oak doorway, with a sign so small that you have to squint to read it: HOLLISTER.
Entering the shop, you go left for the female clothes, and right for the male. But in Hollister, there are no females and males. No boys and girls. No ladies and gentlemen either. No, in Hollister, you are either a ‘Dude’ or a ‘Betty’.
Assuming I was a Betty, I entered through the left side and was hit by glorious smells and loud music. Indie tunes blasted through the shop, and each section had a different smell, each one divine and summery.
Fumbling in my handbag, I was disappointed to discover that I had left my torch at home. It was so dark in there! Clearly it was that dark so that you couldn’t have a heart attack from the shocking prices before you in teensy tiny font, but it does raise a question… What was the point in having these gorgeous models wandering around the place if you can’t stare at them?!
Then again, I would happily squint away in the dark to catch a glimpse of those workers.., While on that subject, can I just thank the Gods of Hollister for the men they employ? Wow. Jeez. Thank you… So very much…
A shirt found its way through the crowd of beautifully soft clothes and into my arms. I couldn’t put down such a pretty thing – I simply had to try it on! After staring enviously at the fitting room girl’s toned, tanned legs that had a minuscule amount of material on that were suppose to be shorts, I entered the fitting room.
Now, if you go to Primark or New Look, you will leave the fitting room with bruises from wacking your arm as you try on a shirt in a tiny and very claustrophobic space. Not in Hollister you won’t though! Can’t have rich customers hurting themselves, no no no! I was welcomed into my very own spacious dressing room, with the perfect lighting so that when I gazed into the magic mirror, I looked about 4 dress sizes smaller! I think that really the workers there are all fat, but the clothes are magic and make everyone feel a million dollars.
Paying for my clothes and catching my breath a little at the price, I found myself with a topless hunk literally on my arm. I decided that this was to be the first man I would bring home to my parents, in his red swimming trunks and all! Whatever genius put men like that on the front of shopping bags deserves a round of applause. I am considering buying things from there now simply for the bag!
Leaving that shop, I felt incredible. I now understand why the girls in Sex and The City love shopping so very much – if all shops were like that, I would too! But sadly they are not, and not even when I am a rich successful woman will I ever have enough money to buy all the designer clothes I want! However, I don’t want to think of reality right now – I’m still floating on Cloud 9 at the memories of the smells, the music, the fitting room, the clothes, the art and the men of Hollister. Day well spent.
Well, my dear readers, do you love designer shops, or do you not see the point in buying clothes that have the tiniest logo on that make the clothing double in price? Comment below! Much love to you all. Good night.