Clothing store employees spent an hour humiliating me for my weight
The Incident at the Flagship Boutique
Clothing store employees spent an hour humiliating me for my weight, not knowing I was the heir they were expecting. I walked into the flagship designer boutique wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I was planning to buy a dress for my family’s charity gala next week.
The saleswoman looked up from their phones, scanned me from head to toe, and immediately went back to scrolling. I was taken aback since their manager had been calling me for weeks to personally style me for the event.
The first saleswoman, rake thin in a designer suit, walked over and said, “I think you’re in the wrong store. The plus-size shop is three blocks down. They have roomier options.” Her colleague laughed from behind the counter. “This is couture, sweetie. Everything here is sample size.”
“You understand what that means, right? Size zero or two? Maybe a four if we’re being generous.” I told them I was looking for an evening gown. The first woman actually snorted. “An evening gown for what? Watching Netflix on your couch?”
She turned to her colleague. “She probably thinks she’s going to Cinderella herself into something two sizes too small.” The other one added, “Honey, squeezing into expensive clothes won’t make you look rich. It’ll just make you look desperate, like a sausage in designer casing.”
When I started browsing the racks, the first saleswoman physically stepped between me and the clothes. “Please don’t touch the merchandise, the oils from your skin, especially when you’re sweating, can damage the fabrics.”
I wasn’t sweating, but she continued. “These pieces are for people with self-control. You clearly don’t understand portion control, so you probably don’t understand how to handle luxury items either.”
The second one decided to give me advice while I looked. “You know, if you lost about 100 pounds, you might fit into our largest size.”
“Have you tried eating less? It’s really not that hard if you have any discipline.” Her colleague chimed in. “She probably doesn’t even know what a gym looks like. Look at those arms.” “That’s years of choosing McDonald’s over movement.”
When I picked up a beautiful black gown to look at the price, the first saleswoman snatched it from my hands. “This is $8,000. Even if you could afford it, which clearly you can’t, it would never fit you.” “The designer doesn’t make circus tents.” She held it up against herself.
“See, this is what it’s supposed to look like on a real woman, not whatever you are.” They started taking photos of me pretending to be subtle. “This is hilarious. When fat people think they belong in high fashion,” they posted it to the store’s private Instagram story with pig emojis.
“Look at her thinking she can shop here. Probably ate her way through her entire paycheck and thinks one dress will make her pretty woman.” The manager’s assistant walked by and the saleswoman called her over. “This woman refuses to leave.”
“She’s making our actual customers uncomfortable.” The assistant looked at me with disgust. “Ma’am, this is an exclusive boutique. We cater to a certain aesthetic.”
“You’re ruining the ambiance. Perhaps Walmart has something more your speed and size.” When I said I had money to spend, they all laughed. “What? Your welfare check came in?”
The first one said, “Fat people are fat because they’re lazy, and lazy people don’t have money. Successful people have self-control.” “You probably spent your last dollar on a bucket of chicken before waddling in here.” The assistant added, “Security should really screen people better.”
“We can’t have just anyone walking in off the street thinking they belong here.” The second saleswoman pulled out a measuring tape. “Let’s see how delusional you are.”
She wrapped it around my waist without permission, announcing the number loudly. “Yep, you’re about three of our mannequins combined. The only thing we have that would fit you is maybe a tablecloth from our home collection.”
They all laughed while she measured my arms, too. “Look at these. Bigger than my thighs. How do you even find sleeves?”
They actually called security to escort me out. “This woman is loitering and making customers uncomfortable with her presence,” the first saleswoman told the guard. He grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the door while they narrated.
“This is what happens when you don’t know your place.” “Imagine thinking you could afford anything here when you clearly shop at thrift stores.” The assistant sprayed air freshener behind me. “Finally, we can breathe again without smelling fast food grease.” The first one got more biting as security dragged me.
“You know what’s sad? You probably have no friends, no romantic prospects, no life, and you thought buying a designer dress would change that.” “But you can’t dress up diabetes and heart disease.”
“You’re going to die alone and fat and no amount of designer fabric can hide that.” The others nodded in agreement, one adding, “She’ll probably stress eat about this rejection later. It’s a vicious cycle with these people.”
That’s when the manager came running out of her office completely out of breath. “Oh my god, Miss Blake, I’m so glad to see you.” She was practically bowing.
“I’ve been calling your assistant for weeks about styling you for the charity gala. Your mother said you might stop by.” She turned to the saleswoman whose faces had gone pale. “Has my staff been treating you well?”
The manager’s face went white as she turned back to me, waiting for my answer about how her staff had been treating me. I took a long breath and felt everyone’s eyes burning into me. “I need to speak with you privately right now.”
The security guard still had his hand wrapped around my arm, and I looked down at his grip. “Let go of me immediately.” He looked confused, but the manager practically ran over to us.
“Release her this instant.” She was stumbling over apologies while waving him away. “Miss Blake, I am so sorry. Please come to my office.”
The guard dropped my arm like it was on fire and stepped back. The saleswoman stood frozen by the counter with their faces completely drained of color. They knew their careers might be ending.
I followed the manager through the store without looking at them. Even though my legs were shaking, my head stayed high as we walked past the racks of expensive clothes.
