Forever 21
Pioneer
Place II
340 SW Morrison St.
241-0488
Open 9:30 am-9 pm Monday-Friday, 9:30 am-7 pm Saturday,
11 am-6 pm Sunday
"That shirt is hella cute!" exclaims a teenage girl
outside the dressing rooms at Forever 21, a new store at
the newly expanded Pioneer Place. Her friend has no doubt
just emerged from a curtained nook in some tight-fitting,
cheap, synthetic top. Of course, I don't actually see the
shirt that elicits the grating slang compliment--I'm too
busy wriggling my 29-year-old ass into a forever-too-small
polka dotted skirt in the adjacent room--but that description
fits just about all of the merch in the chain store: Polyester
snake-print pants for less than 30 bucks; flouncy, printed,
rayon skirts in bright colors for under 20 bones; tiny tees
and tank tops for just shy of a sawbuck. In a nutshell,
Forever 21 is an emporium of trendy, disposable clothes
fit for teenagers. Think Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera
and their slumber-party pals.
So why is it called Forever 21? It seems like Forever 16
would be more appropriate (but it would sound even more
suspiciously pornographic). Why does it emphasize a specific
age at all? I was checking out the scene on a recent afternoon
to see just what the hell(a) was going on at this mysteriously-named
place.
The majority of shoppers on an early weekday afternoon
were women in their teens and twenties, with a few older
browsers roaming the aisles. Two 26-year-old shoppers I
talked to agree it's a boon for style-conscious teenagers
on a budget, but that it doesn't offer much for anyone older.
The sizes are ridiculously small, the clothes don't seem
to account for hips or substantial breasts, and--let's face
it--hot pants aren't a good idea for most of us over the
legal drinking age. Not a damn thing I tried on my 5-foot-9,
medium-build frame even fit.
But, my informants add, Forever 21 is a good place to find
cute pieces for cheap that you won't feel bad about wearing
twice and handing off to Goodwill come fall. After all,
who's got the dough to keep up with cutting-edge younger
styles at higher-end shops like Bebe, or even Nordstrom,
when the fashion cycle moves faster than a Diane Von Furstenberg
wrap dress at a garage sale?
But really, is there some belief that women really want
to be 21 forever? I certainly don't. Lots of us may have
looked foxier in tight jeans and halter tops on the cusp
of adulthood, but we didn't have the direction, confidence
and maturity that comes with age and experience. I wouldn't
trade that for thinner thighs and perkier breasts.
Sure, I've been known to dress younger than my age, but
it's usually in the form of old Levi's and sporty T-shirts
reminiscent of those I wore at age 12, not clinging, breast-magnifying
nylon shirts and ass-hugging skirts as durable as Kleenex.
The casual, tomboyish look isn't intended to be sexy or
conjure an age at which society tells us women are at their
most alluring. If anything, androgynous clothes from my
playground days downplay physical and superficial traits,
shifting the emphasis--I hope--to less tangible, more worthwhile
qualities. Besides, who wants to attract seedy frat guys
in bars looking to get laid? Not I.
A fellow writer tells me she thinks "Forever 21" has a
male-concocted, sleazy ring to it. Maybe she's right, but
that's not why I probably won't shop there. It's just that
forever is an awfully long time. I think I'll keep moving
forward instead, thank you very much.
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Willamette Week | originally
published May 10,
2000
|
