Am I An 'Anthropologie Woman'?
On aspirational womanhood and decorating as an exercise in self-worth. Plus, a messy motherhood comedy, our modern glut of choice and home essentials.
In the final year of my adolescence, I got a part-time job at Anthropologie. I was too young to shop there (I mostly frequented its cheaper sister store, Urban Outfitters), but it still felt like the dream retail job. Located on an expensive street in Toronto’s most upscale neighborhood (Yorkville), I felt like an imposter every time I stepped into the store for my shift. I would arrive an hour early and stay an hour late following the diligent protocol I was taught: spacing each hanger precisely the same distance from the next, folding dainty shorts into their manicured shelves and organizing the drawers of colorful door knobs that shoppers always made a mess of.
I was even more nervous when we opened the doors to our well-to-do clientele, dreading that I would be assigned as the door-greeter or put on cash. Regulars were well aware of our complimentary g…