I had to go shopping today for a nice jacket to wear tomorrow when I get my picture taken at work. Macy’s is the closest decent store to where I live, and they actually have a pretty good selection when it comes to makeup and socks, so I shop there a lot. I went there today with a heavy heart because I knew what was going to happen. They were going to disappoint me, and I knew it before I even started. I wasn’t wrong.
I’m a big girl. I shop in the plus sizes. Macy’s doesn’t call them plus sizes, they call them “Macy’s Women”. This is insulting to anyone that isn’t a plus size, as apparently you are all girls, or maybe ferrets, or an alien life form. They don’t care; Just give them your money.
I went in search of “Macy’s Women”, and I finally found them on the 3rd floor. This floor was disturbing. The escalator getting there sounded like it was about to break down at any moment with it’s wheezes and squeaks and creaks, the floor was broken in places, and I don’t know if it was a trick of the lighting, but everything looked dirty.
The clothes were… beyond description. I think some of the shirts were just re-purposed tablecloths with a $200 price tag. All I wanted was a black suit jacket and a white (or black) button down shirt. I must have been shopping for an hour before I finally found a shirt that didn’t have an excessive number of buttons, pockets, or weird flair in the form of ropes, buckles, or bows. Also, what’s up with the collars? Why do the buttons not go all the way up to the collar? Why are the collars so ugly? The designers were just terrible. I know that there are non-ugly fat people clothing out there. I own lots of it. Am I really that much better at picking out clothing than the people that stock Macy’s shelves?
There weren’t any sales people around; at least, not that I could find. There weren’t any mirrors scattered around like there are in most clothing departments. I guess they didn’t want anyone to see how ridiculous they looked standing next to the paisley print tent pants. The dressing rooms were so gross. They were also self-service: once you’re done trying something on, you have to take it out of the room yourself. I don’t consider myself a lazy person, but when I’m paying that much money for a shirt, I shouldn’t have to put my reject pile away.
While the first two floors had been a comfy amount of warm, they decided to kick the heater on the 3rd floor into overdrive. I was melting. Literally. I have bright red hair. When I start sweating, the dye drips. Macy’s, I’m sorry that I ruined that hideous white shirt I tried on by leaving a tiny red spot on it, but really, the cut was horrendous, the material was terrible, the price tag was astronomical given the quality of the garment, and you shouldn’t hate fat people so much, anyways. I left you a note saying I was sorry. I’m not paying for the shirt.