I am extremely mad at you. I am let down. I have recently, as of 12/26, bought a pair of your overalls. First, maybe you should know that I’ve wanted overalls for a very long time. It’s a tireless search, because overalls are notoriously not cute: They are practical or they are just plain ugly. But, as you might have known, you make a pretty damn cute overall. I mean, damn, these overalls look good. And I, who love your clothes — I mean, really, who doesn’t?—have hemmed and hawed over a pair of your overalls in the past. I bought a pair of the Washed Denim overalls in a static jean last April, but, due to finances and the fact that I typically dislike the way your pants fit (I usually find them tight and loose in all the wrong places), I ended up returning the jean overalls, to my biggest dismay. But I promised myself I would keep looking.
9 months later: It is the day after Christmas, and even after all my presents have been opened I feel empty. I know, typical white girl problems. But then again, aren’t I your target audience?
I walk into your Bellevue store against my sister’s protests, knowing that I was about to spend money. I saw this glistening pair of corduroy, murky teal overalls. Corduroy? I love corduroy! I have been looking for an excuse to buy corduroy bottoms. Murky teal? I love murky teal! It incorporates into my wardrobe so well, what with all the greys and greens, light purples and tans (living in Seattle can sometimes dictate a muted wardrobe…). I was smitten. I ignored my sister’s remarks of disgust at the overalls (not her style, really), and, although they were above my price point, I made a dash for the fitting room.
No question, I loved them. I grabbed a smaller size — what could make a girl love something more than having to buy it in a smaller size? — and bought the overalls, feeling guilty but satisfied.
The next day I tried them on at home for my sister. She liked them! Well, she liked them on me, anyway. I could see the earnest in her eyes: She wasn’t just being pleasant, she was honestly surprised that I could make such an “ugly” thing look good. So, thrilled but wanting to save the pants for more of a special day, I put them back for in their shopping bag.
Cut to the night of the 28th: Destined to see my significant other
for the first time in two weeks, I crafted a simple but adorable outfit with the overalls. I fretted about them for a minute, but ultimately left the house, feeling confident with my decision. I went to a friend’s house to pick her up, go to the movies, then out for a drink at a dive-y bar in town. While I was paying my bar tab my hand absentmindedly wandered, brushing a bit of lint from the side of my pants, and suddenly, where there should have been nothing but cord, I felt my own skin. I looked down, startled, and saw a vertical hole in the pants. Three inches away, I found another, and then, two more. What?! I said to myself. Da Fauq?! How was it possible, how was it possible, that the new, adorable, $100 overalls I had bought days before already had holes in them??!
Girls are no strangers to holes in their pants. Usually I retire a favorite pair of jeans only once I have lost the battle between the fabric and my thighs. Never have I said goodbye to a pair of pants I love before the inevitable thigh-rubbing-together holes have eaten up any chance I had of wearing them out in public comfortably. But, to have a pair of pants deteriorate the first day you wear them? Blasphemous! For $100? A crime against all shoppers!
Honestly, Free People, I know that in the fashion world of 13 — 62 year old middle, upper, and upper middle class females you are like, almost literally the shit, but, please: Stop making such crappy clothing.
I think it’s amazing that as your popularity has grown, your quality of clothing has plummeted. I get it, your clothes are adorable, and the image you promote is so well-crafted, so ethereal, and so damn fashionable. But, if I’m going to spend $100 dollars on a pair of overalls, which I really like, that I want to wear until they give, I don’t want them to give the first day they are worn.
Unfortunately, this is the end of our relationship. That’s why I am writing this letter to you (I have a habit of ending relationships with letters). I am sorry for being so abrupt, even I was not expecting to feel this way. No, you cannot change my mind. Your behavior has shaken me, and I am embarrassed to be seen with you now.
I can no longer spend my money on clothes that I know are so low quality and therefore so overpriced. I wish it hadn’t ended this way, but I suppose sometimes you just have to wake up and face the truth, the cold hard truth that I am not a doe-like creature whose life consists of traveling to obscure cities and sea coasts. My hair is not long, frizzy, and quintessentially dreamy, I do not meet handsome yet gangly strangers and fall instantly in love, I do not write poetry on tree leaves, I do not bathe in fresh springs and dance in the forest, and I do not wear free people clothing any longer.
I would like a full refund for the overalls I bought that day. I will be returning the other two shirts I bought that day, and I will wash my hands of you.
Thank you for your time. & I hope one day you amend your ways.
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