When I was fifteen, my friend loved the store Express. I would saunter sadly into their vast, white store casting my eyes down like a plus-sized puppy. I knew none of their clothes came in my size, but I would play the good, fun, accommodating friend who loved shopping. I would sift through clothes on racks, pretending I was looking with intent to purchase, hoping no store clerk would look at me and say "Oh, honey, there's nothing in here for you." I would head to the accessories section and waste time in there for a bit while my friend tried on tank tops and hip-hugging, low-rise jeans. I would sigh through my anxiety holding glassy statement earrings when I saw the price tag. Who could afford these on a freshman-in-high-school budget? There was always a moment my friend would ask me if I was "going to try anything on" and I'd feign disinterest, even though I was interested. The store was disinterested in me. I wanted to try things on, I wanted to be fashionable, but the clothes in Express were as judgy as the glares I assumed I was getting from its employees. Sometimes, I would create a narrative in my head that, if someone asked, I would say I was picking up something for my very thin cousin. Yep. That would keep me safe if they needed to know why the chubby girl was in their store.
All of this to say that to hell with it by PinkPantheress is the album that would have been playing in that Express store in 2001. This music, this energy, would've hastened my heart rate and embarrassment as I sifted through tiny people's clothes, dodging looks, and feeling like I was filling up too much space in a spacious store.
1 out of 5 Express Stores
5 out of 5 Happy Thanksgiving, friends!
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