Reflecting on my Time Working at Abercrombie & Fitch Corporate...

On May 30th I wrote an
article for Salon.com on the Abercrombie & Fitch clothing size controversy
("Is Abercombie & Fitch the enemy? Or is it
us?"). Thanks to all
of you who provided such great feedback.





As I mentioned in the
essay, I worked in the A&F corporate offices from 2004-2006. Several
of you asked if I could add to my Salon.com essay by sharing how my
experiences at A&F shaped my life. Here goes: 




My fascination with the
politics of clothing size began during the time I worked at A&F as a
merchant in the outerwear division.
It was my first "real" job after college. I'd worked for a few years
as a sales associate at JCrew, and fancied myself a fashionista. 




During my on-site job
interview I remember asking an HR representative to describe the
corporate culture at A&F, given it’s recent out-of-court settlement of
a lawsuit charging the company with widespread sexism and racism. “We’re an
incredibly inclusive organization,” he promised, “We’ve just hired a VP of
Diversity and all of our employees go through diversity training. Everyone is
welcome and respected at A&F.” The answer seemed okay to me, so I
happily accepted the job I was offered a few weeks later. 




Looking back, I can see
that accepting a job at A&F was a last-ditch effort at trying to convince
myself I could be one of those "cool kids" Mike Jeffries referred to
in
his now famous 2006 interview with Salon. You know, the kind that have, as he put it, “a great
attitude and a lot of friends.” In contrast, I spent much of my time at
A&F depressed and often lonely, without many close friends, aside from
my beloved design counterpart and roommate. I was a recovering anorexic and
burgeoning feminist. I felt out of place and was occasionally scrutinized by my
director for being “too cerebral” (Cue Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears
Prada, complaining about hiring the “smart fat girl.”) 




Corporate employees were
expected to dress “on brand” at work.  This meant dressing like our target young-adult customers. Imagine
heading to work wearing a low-cut tank top, torn denim mini-skirt and
flip-flops accessorized with leg-warmers (don't get all judgey... leg warmers
were hip back then!). During my employee orientation the HR rep joked that
wearing a GAP sweatshirt on campus would result in security being called. We
were also subtly discouraged from wearing the color black, deemed "too
urban" for the
"East-Coast-Rich-Kids-at-Summer-Camp-in-the-Adirondacks" aesthetic
A&F is known for. (If you doubt me on this, I challenge you to find a
single stitch of black thread in an A&F store!) It took me almost a year
after leaving A&F to feel comfortable reintroducing black into my wardrobe.





Speaking of summer camp in the Adirondacks...
THIS was what the corporate campus looked like! 














My body was an A&F
size 8 back then, precariously maintained through carefully rationed low-calorie
frozen meals and religious gym attendance, including - of course - the “Abercrombie Abs” class at the gym on
campus. I wore the second-largest women’s size available at A&F, and
the largest available at Hollister & Co. It terrified me to think that
if I gained weight I’d have to join the ranks of larger women employees who had
sized out of the women’s sizes and wore ill-fitting A&F men’s t-shirts
and sweatshirts to work every day. 





Admittedly, staying
"not fat" was never an official policy at A&F corporate, and
there were many women my size or larger working throughout the office,
including in leadership positions. Indeed, some larger women employees,
especially those on the creative side of the business, were savvy enough to
find Abercrombie-esque clothes that fit well and fit it. But I wasn't ready to
go there. Part of me - the anorexic part - liked having an excuse to stay
below those scary double digits. 




Needless to say,
Abercrombie & Fitch and I weren’t a great fit (pun intended). After trying to make it work - of faking it - for a
year and a half, I had to face the fact that my fashionable, “cook kid,”
career path was making me miserable and keeping me unhealthy. I had to
make a choice between my vanity and my sanity, so I left the company in
summer of 2006, a few months after my first promotion. My next job was, again,
in the fashion world, at Gap Inc., and I was happy there. But my experience at
A&F had left a bad taste in my mouth, one that made me miss the intellectual
adventures I'd enjoyed while earning my undergraduate degrees in sociology and
gender studies.  Grad school was calling to me, and I'm so glad I
heeded the call.





Academia isn't
perfect, but I love my work and the community of scholars and social activists
that support me in it, as friends and colleagues. Oh, and last time I
checked, my graduation regalia will include a forgiving one-size-fits all gown
in - what else? - black.





PS - I think most of us
learned a thing or two about ourselves (and life in general) at our first
"real" jobs. I'd love to hear your stories!

Subscribe to Mirror, Mirror... OFF The Wall.