The selection here isn’t so bad, thought Jenna. These jeans are actually cute! The rear pocket placement is a little low, which will further flatten my already unplump ass, but the cut is sophisticated. Nice wash. Jenna was clothes shopping at Target for the first time. The superstore was positioned in downtown Brooklyn’s Atlantic Center mall, kitty-corner to the Barclay Center, at the intersection of every genre of Brooklyn personality: yuppie gentrifiers buying zingy throw pillows for their Restoration Hardware chaise lounges; rowdy, around-the-way teens eating Pizza Hut and making out in the cafe; tattooed hipster moms stalking the kiddie section for organic baby bedding—and Jenna, who in her almost twenty years in fashion, had never worn anything but socks and Maybelline Great Lash mascara from the likes of Target.
She was shopping there because it’s all her budget allowed, which would’ve been depressing if she wasn’t sort of getting into it. Over the past half hour, she’d loaded up her cart with three pairs of J brand-esque jeans; two dresses that were perfect Isabel Marant knockoffs; and a chunky, menswear-inspired sweater that, if she squinted, looked like it could’ve sprung to life from a Matthew Williamson sketch. How had she not known that Target was a delightful Narnia of a retail destination?
It was Saturday morning, and shopping always cleared her head—which she needed, after her abysmal work week. Instead of following Darcy’s direct order to spend more time together, Jenna and Eric did the opposite, avoiding each other completely. The one time they ran into each other, outside of the kitchenette, they did an almost choreographed about-face and took off in the other direction. Jenna couldn’t help it. She wanted Eric not to exist.
Which was stupid. She needed him.
Grabbing an electric purple maxi skirt off of a spinning rack, Jenna mused on this. She’d have to be the one to fix it, to apologize. After all, she was the grownup. Yes, Eric calling her hard up and undateable was rude, but Jenna never should’ve said he had mommy issues. It was inexcusable. No wonder he didn’t want anything to do with her.
Jenna was rifling through the next rack, when she heard a familiar pair of voices.
“…because yeah, I’m platinum blonde, but I’m naturally a brunette, so my skin coloring doesn’t match my hair. You’d think I’d wear rosy blush, but I really need a coral.”
“Do you think my Cleopatra eyeliner is played out? I need an update.”
“You can never not do Cleopatra eyeliner. That’s your you-drag.”
“Me-drag?”
“Your signature look. Like, if someone were to dress up like you, they’d have to wear that eyeliner. Everybody has their me-drag. Mine is athletic techno-slut.”
It was Terry and Jinx. Jenna spotted them walking up the main aisle toward the registers, each carrying baskets full of makeup.
Jenna froze. No, no, no. She couldn’t let them see her buying a whole wardrobe at Target. Every morning, she used her years of styling expertise to merchandise her outfits in such a way that an American Eagle top looked like Altuzarra. She was supposed to be a Fashion OG, a Major Player! If they saw her, she’d be outed for the broke fraud she was.
She abandoned her cart and ducked behind a pillar. Holding her breath, she tried to make herself small until they passed.
Keep walking, nothing to see here…
“Jenna?”
Her eyes flew open. “Terry!”
She and Jinx looked at each other and burst into giggles.
“I never thought I’d see you at Target!” Jinx looked like a girl who’d just been told the most delicious piece of gossip. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’m…I was picking up some kitchen utensils. I’ve only been back in New York for a couple of weeks, I still need a lot of household supplies.”
“But isn’t this your cart of clothes?” asked Terry.
“No!” Jenna laughed. “Why would you think it’s mine?”
“That’s your furry handbag in the front.”
“Oh! Hilarious, yeah. My, um, fifteen-year-old niece needs some back-to-school clothes, so I was just…” Jenna cut herself off, because she realized she was clutching the purple maxi-skirt to her chest like protective armor.
And in that moment, she decided she was sick of hiding the low-budget truth of her life. The veneer hadn’t earned her the respect she was going for anyway.
Jenna tossed her skirt into her cart, grabbed her purse and said, Girls, can I treat you to personal pan pizzas at the café?”
Ten minutes later, the three women were enjoying two ndividual pepperoni pizzas, discussing perception versus reality. “But…you’re totes fancy,” said Jinx.
“Not anymore,” said Jenna.
“You used to work for Darling!” exclaimed Terry. “How are you not all designer everything?”
She took a sip of Sprite. “I did have a fabulous wardrobe. But… circumstances changed, and I sold everything because I needed cash to relocate. Now, I’m a financially-challenged ‘glambassador’ who has the nerve to prescribe fashion advice to StyleZine readers when I bought a pair of fake heels from a site called Fauxboutins.com.”
Terry and Jinx stared at her, disbelieving. The Louboutin thing took them over the edge. They never expected that level of tackiness from any of their coworkers, let alone her.
“Do the shoes look legit?” asked Jinx, in hushed tones.
“Girls,” said Jenna, moving on, “I’d love it if we could keep this our little secret, okay?”
“Fully,” said Terry. She laid her hand—which was adorned with an extravaganza of skeleton and skull-and-crossbones rings—over Jenna’s. “This is a circle of trust.”
“And don’t feel bad about being broke! We all are,”’ said Jinx, nibbling gingerly on a small circle of pepperoni.
“Ready for a truthbomb?” asked Terry, helping herself to Jinx’s pizza. “This morning I got dressed in the dark. No electricity. It’s my roommate’s fault. She’s sweet, but a butt-slut. Anyway, she’s all wrapped up in this illicit thing with the Hasidic dude that runs the check cashing place on our block, and forgot to pay her half of the bill. And I couldn’t cover it. That’s how financially-challenged I am.”
“I’m so poor,” said Jinx, “that I make paninis with my flatiron.”
“See?” exclaimed Terry. “We’re all in the same lane.”
Jenna smiled, relief flooding her. Not only had it felt incredible to admit the truth, she loved being able to finally relax around Terry and Jinx. It was sweet of them to try to make her feel less pathetic.
“Yet you both always look incredible. Amazing personal styles.”
Terry shrugged. “We write about top designers, but we don’t need to wear them to look dope.”
“It’s easy to get around the money issue.” Jinx looked at her blonde friend, her eyes flashing. “Do you think we should…”
“Brilliant minds, Jinx. Oh yes, ma’am, we definitely should.”
Jinx hopped up and down in her chair, her thick curtain of black hair swinging around her. “Shopping montage!”
“Focus, babe. How much time do we have before the art thing?”
Jinx checked her phone. “Five hours. Ish.”
“Do you have K?”
Jinx pulled a bottle of pills out of her metallic tote and shook it.
“Let’s do this, bitches,” said Terry. “Jenna, grab your bag. Let’s go pay for your Tar-jay finery, and introduce you to the ways of the city’s fashionable, cash-poor youth.”
Terry and Jinx then took Jenna on what she’d later refer to as the Fashion Hustler’s tour. First, they brought her to a townhouse on Eleventh and University Place owned by Laurette DaSilva, a 1970s supermodel who spent her days entertaining Ecuadorian busboys and lolling about her townhouse in a drugged-out fog. Infamously, she traded her exquisite pieces for nothing more than a couple Klonopin pills, which is what happened that afternoon. Then, they settled into a café off Washington Square Park called We Don’t Sell Coffee, and whipped out Jinx’s iPad, introducing Jenna to the magic of Etsy. There she found a glittering wonderland of brilliantly articulated accessories—handbags, earrings, necklaces—that cost next to nothing. Terry brought her to her girlfriend’s Clara Anne Wu’s studio on Avenue C, who everyone called the Blue Jean Queen. She destroyed denim—then repaired it, then destroyed it again—to create the sexiest jeans, jackets, and button-downs anyone had ever seen. @BJQ only sold to her besties, and since her step-dad was a partial owner of all the Uno restaurants in Asia and Australia, she was in the position to practically give the pieces away. Finally, to supplement her new finds, they scrolled through Vogue.com to find Jenna’s favorite looks from the Fall 2012 shows—and then hit the Fifth Avenue Zara for excellent reproductions. The manager gave Jinx and Terry 40 percent discounts, as long as they agreed to occasionally slip his exceptionally fly register chicks into StyleZine’s street style coverage.
By the time they stopped into a Greek diner to grab dinner, Jenna had a delicious new wardrobe. It was younger and fresher, but with a healthy nod to her glamour girl roots. She was bursting with fashion fever—all she wanted to do was rush home and play dress up. And, she’d retail-bonded with Terry and Jinx. It was a lovely day.
“I love inspiring my followers to eat healthy,” said Jinx, taking a pic of her salad for the ‘Gram. “Umm…Jenna, are you going to eat your cheese fries?”
“No, go ahead,” she said, signaling for the check. “I’m calling it a night. I’m obliterated from my week.”
Jinx took a fry, emitted an orgasmic moan, and then poured all of them on top of her salad.
“Speaking of your week,” started Terry, “are you and E cool?
Yesterday he called you ‘Ursula the Sea Witch.’”
“Did he say that?” Jenna fake-laughed. “Ohh, that Eric.”
Jinx smiled wistfully. “Have you ever noticed his initials are E.C.? Eye Candy?”
“You’re such a thirst-bucket,” said Terry. “Besides, we all know you have to be an eighteen-year-old gazelle to get him. God, he and his ex were hella-dazzling together. But honestly? She wasn’t too swift. The only time she spoke up was to recap Pretty Little Liars.”
“Jenna, I bet when you were eighteen you had it all together,” said Jinx.
“Ha! I was clueless. When I was eighteen, I was fourteen.” Jenna downed her tea and left cash for the check. Uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking, she decided it was time to go. “I should be going, ladies. But thank you so much for my shopping montage. This was a magical day.”
Jenna gave them both bear hugs, grabbed her bags and left, blowing the girls kisses.
Ursula the Sea Witch? This standoff had to end. She’d suck it up and take all the blame, so they could get to work. And it had to happen, fast.