Parenting
By Emily Johnson
Updated: Aug. 15, 2015
Originally Published: April 28, 2015
Let’s be clear: I know my way around shopping. Getting to the store early is crucial, and if I truly wanted to seize the opportunity of the Lilly Pulitzer for Target launch, I would’ve been in line at dawn like some of the friends on my social media feed. By 7 a.m., I was already reading their updates about long queues at Target locations across the East Coast. One friend even mentioned that the Target website had crashed under the weight of eager Lilly fans.
However, I tend to avoid early-morning sales events like Black Friday due to the chaotic atmosphere they create, and I felt the same energy surrounding the Lilly release. So, I stuck to my usual Sunday routine, driving carpool for Sunday School at 8:45 before heading to my local Target in Rockville, MD, just to see what was happening. As I entered the parking garage at 9:04, I was disheartened to see the usually empty second level packed with cars. It was a sinking feeling, reminiscent of when a beloved celebrity trends on Twitter for tragic reasons.
At that moment, I transitioned from potential shopper (because let’s be honest, if I spotted a cute palm tree or conch shell-print cosmetic bag, I would’ve snagged it) to a mere observer of the scene. I began to understand my husband’s bewilderment at why people are drawn to certain trends. While I usually play the role of trend interpreter, trying to explain the allure of fleeting styles—“It’s all about the attitude! It’s unique! What’s the harm?”—it seemed that my days of doing so were coming to a halt.
Even if I hadn’t noticed the giant flamingo hanging from the ceiling above the new Lilly items, the cluster of women gathered beneath it would have caught my attention. The vibe was less about excited shoppers and more akin to spectators at a grim accident. Naturally, I was drawn closer, but I approached with caution. The scene was unlike anything I had witnessed at any other store or sale.
The shelves and racks of Lilly Pulitzer for Target were barren, resembling a local market before a hurricane. A handful of women crowded the aisle, clutching overflowing carts filled with LPfT apparel, pillows, and beach chairs. Like scalpers at a trendy prom, they were quietly negotiating amongst themselves, trying to keep their actions under the radar of the all-seeing Target. “I’ve got a size 10 high-waisted bikini, but I need a size 6,” remarked a stylishly dressed woman in her fifties, her frosted blond hair catching the light. I couldn’t help but notice a chic shift dress make its way from one cart to another. Did I say cart? I meant cartel.
The atmosphere was almost eerily polite, yet it was undeniable that these well-dressed moms, sorority girls, and women in gym attire had hoarded everything in sight, regardless of whether they intended to keep it. Once the shelves were stripped bare, these women began to barter their finds like currency. “Ladies Behaving Badly” doesn’t quite capture the essence of what I witnessed. What mattered was ownership, even if they had no intention of keeping it, using it as social leverage among fellow fans.
Perhaps it was the stark contrast of the glaringly empty shelves or the carnival-like reflections of the women in the mirrors that triggered a change in me. I suddenly found myself adopting the same shopping mentality as my husband, which, to be honest, is a complete lack of shopping sensibility. I wanted nothing—not even to be around the women treating unpurchased merchandise as a means to gain social status that Lilly Pulitzer clothing, charming as it is, represents. I considered sharing my experience on social media but ultimately just wanted to escape Lillyland as quickly as possible. Yes, I know how to shop. But the vibe that was selling out beneath the flamingo was simply not for me.
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In summary, the chaotic atmosphere surrounding the Lilly Pulitzer for Target collection shifted my perspective on shopping entirely. What was once a fun venture turned into a spectacle of consumer frenzy that left me feeling more like a spectator than a participant. I learned that sometimes, the thrill of shopping can be overshadowed by the overwhelming nature of trends and the behaviors they inspire.