It’s not really known as a purveyor of youthful fashions. Sure, youngish folk stop by, even find a bargain on occasion, but its merchandise appeals to the more . . . well . . . seasoned shoppers. You can find holiday apparel by the rack-full there, plus polyester blends in every wearable form, and Alfred Dunner pantsuits aplenty. But, to be sure, no one under the age of 50 is too disappointed when they leave Hamricks empty handed. I mean, it’s not like it’s Forever 21 or Charming Charlies.
I like Hamricks, though. The prices are reasonable, and they have a great selection of Lee jeans—a favorite of mine. Anyway, not too long ago, I was meandering through the markdowns and overheard a conversation between two women who were probably in their twenties the year I was born.
Woman One, using her thumb and finger to pull a garment out from the rack for viewing, stared at it quizzically and asked her companion, “Is this the style now?”
The blouses in question are the ones made of flimsy fabric splashed with color; many of them have empire waists such that they cinch just above the rib cage and fall free below the hips.
Woman One continued flipping through the hangers, shaking her head. She selected one, held it up, and caught her reflection in a nearby mirror. Companion peeked in to see the result.
“No. No way,” Woman One said to Companion’s face in the mirror before turning to put the blouse back in its place. “I’m not wearing that! People will think I’m pregnant!”
Oh Sweetie, I thought. Bless your heart. Just bless your sweet heart.