Receive Weekly Email and Text Message Updates:
Sign up for latest info on concerts, dining, promotions and more!
Go!

National Features >

  • City Pages

    Michele Bachmann, Unmuzzled

    You don't need to read Sarah Palin's book to hear the ravings of a mad woman.

    By Matt Snyders

  • Miami New Times

    Pimp Daddy

    The rise and fall of a chubby sex-cult leader.

    By Natalie O'Neill

  • Riverfront Times

    Babe 'n' Arms

    Tom was a hot-tempered cross-dresser with a garage full of guns--and then he became Rachel.

    By Nicholas Phillips

  • Dallas Observer

    The Fight for Texas

    Rick Perry and Kay Bailey Hutchison are locked in a battle over the soul of the GOP. They're also running for governor.

    By Sam Merten

Be Social

  • rss

Girlcott!

THEO DOUGLAS

Published on November 10, 2005

"Yeah, you should really do this this week. It's a timelystory," our photo editor says, all smirking 'cause we're a weekly and I'm a monthly. And yeah, Abercrombie & Fitch is in hot water right now over its latest T-shirt series, printed with timeless screeds like "Blondes Are Adored/Brunettes Are Ignored," "Do I Make You Look Fat?" and "Who Needs Brains When You Have These?"

But this was really a timely story three years ago, in April 2002, which was when A&F got busted the first time, then backed down and gave up on T-shirts promoting such absolutely non-racist institutions as the Chinese laundry, with fake logos and deathless slogans like "Two Wongs Can Make It White."

It's still a timely story; it's just really sad at the same time. Sad that A&F keeps making lame, suck-ass tees with messages as old as those license-plate frames reading "Teachers Do It With Class." Only, you know, sexist. Sad because by writing this, I'm giving A&F press—and all press is good press. Sad because young women have organized a boycott—a girlcott, actually. Seriously—when perhaps the best thing to do would be to ignore A&F. (Or not.)

The only good news is that, just as it did last time, A&F has caved and is pulling the T-shirts. Finally. And I can stop writing about them. Again.