My Awkward Introduction to Stitch Fix

Dear Stitch Fix,

I think there’s been a mix-up with my box. It’s ok, though. I’m pretty sure if I explain what happened, the situation is easily remedied.

I have a bunch of friends who use your personal shopping service, and they’ve all been really pleased. I was hesitant, at first, to sign up, because I firmly believe shopping is one of the key joys in life, meant to be cherished and savored. If someone else shops for me, how will I cheer myself up when I’m having a bad day? What will I do when I have to show a house infested with spiders, the school principal calls because Jonas got into a fight on the bus, and three people unfriend me on Facebook right after I post an anti-homeopathy rant (one because she thinks I’m against gay people)?

But then I remembered there’s still wine. Also, I almost never have time anymore to indulge in any shopping that doesn’t involve Target or Kohls, and I’m pretty tired of pretending I’m shopping for my teenage daughter in the junior section so I don’t end up wearing the same wrap dress as the teacher to curriculum night. I decided it would actually be really nice to have someone mail me five cute wardrobe options once a month.

So I signed up, and when I did, I made sure to fill out the whole questionnaire about my tastes and desires. I labored over my true feelings regarding ‘statement pieces’ and crop tops. I created a Pinterest page with clothes I like (as suggested), so you’d understand my special unicorn clothing opinions. I even alienated my mother, who has always considered herself my personal shopper, in the process. (What do you need that for??)

When my first box finally came, I was beyond excited. I couldn’t wait to get it open and look super adorable in all my new clothes. I was sure this was the element of my life I’d been missing in order to truly reach my full potential. Step 1: Look fantastic without having to spend time shopping. Step 2: Secure a reality show where I sell real estate and do circus performances. Step 3: Write a best selling book about my life. Step 4: World domination.

As soon as I tore back the cardboard strip and peeled off the top of the box, I could tell something wasn’t right. These clothes… didn’t seem fabulous. But the directions had instructed me to try everything on with some of my favorite pieces already in my wardrobe, before determining whether I liked an item or not, and I’m not one to subvert the proper process, so I pushed forward.

Item 1: Gray and white sweaterish top, $48

It’s not a hideous top. I like the color gray and I guess the price is ok. The shape isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen. That said, the day I got this top, the high was 112 degrees. It’s won’t be sweater weather in Phoenix for three more months. I’m pretty sure you accidentally grabbed from the pile meant for a woman named Susan who lives in Cleveland and feels nervous about color and showing her upper arms. Right? Isn’t that what happened?

Item 2: Burgundy dress, $68

This one… uh…

Er…

Oof…

Ugh. Just… ugh. I tried, I really did. I mean, again, it was 112 degrees the day I got this, so the long sleeves are already an enormous problem. And the color. Can we talk for a second about the color? Who likes burgundy? Who?? Raise your hands right now, everyone who likes burgundy. See there, Stitch Fix? The only people raising their hands are that lady whose house I showed last week with the cat urine odor problem, and my 9th grade choir teacher. Those are the people who like the color burgundy. Setting both those aside, unbelted, the billowing tentness of the shape makes it look like I’m smuggling drugs in over the border under my dress. This sort of voluminous silhouette only works on models who exist on champagne and cigarettes. It makes everyone else look like they’re trying to hide a muffin top under a tent. Adding a belt helps with the illusion of a waist, but only if I’m transported back in time to 1984.

This one was meant for a 22 year old model named Chloe, who lives in NYC and has recently discovered reruns of Blossom on TVLand. Right? She’s been hot gluing plastic flowers to a floppy hat she found in a thrift store and this would go perfectly with it when it’s done.

Item 3: Sleeveless polyester top with black and white stripes, $58

Ok, I think this one is my fault, isn’t it? I just remembered I put on the questionnaire that I live in 2005, work in an office and am trying to hide a pregnancy until my promotion comes through.

No, wait… I didn’t.

Cheryl, the admin assistant who’s back to work for the first time in 20 years after raising her children called and would like to buy this top. She thinks it looks like you wouldn’t have to iron it when it comes out of the dryer and she heard vertical stripes are slimming.

Item 4: Black leggings… as pants, $78

If you were friends with me on Facebook, Stitch Fix, you’d know I’ve rallied for leggings as pants in the past. Although, mostly I like to wear wild leggings, and I mostly wear them just out in public, when I’m on my way to and from circus class. I’m actually not one of those people who understands how formal leggings as pants work. I have short legs, so long, dressy tops aren’t my go-to attire. I’m just… not sure what to do with these (besides pair them with an equally sad burgundy top).

Maybe this?

Or I could wear them to circus class. Although if I’m going to spend $80 on leggings that are probably see-thru, I’m gonna do it at Lululemon or Athletica so I can get them with a cute pattern and a matching sports bra.

I’m assuming these were meant for Caroline, an equestrian show rider from New Jersey. She wore through her last pair and specifically requested a replacement.

Item 5: Long, gold, fringy necklace, $68

This last one was obviously meant for the girl who doesn’t mind throwing away SIXTY-EIGHT DOLLARS on a necklace so poorly constructed it could have come out of quarter vending machine in a plastic bubble. I’m not sure who that girl is. I don’t know anyone like her.

See, Stitch Fix? It was just all a big (depressing) mistake. After I tried all of that on, I felt bad enough about myself and clothes in general, I dug through my closet and styled myself from shit I already own and hardly ever wear, so I could renew my faith in fashion. When you send me my real box, feel free to fill it with stuff like this:

Anxiously awaiting your next (possibly final) attempt,

Elizabeth, the 37 year old mother of three who lives in Arizona and loves to actually look cute.