A friend of mine was telling me about these new subscription fashion services. You answer some questions about your tastes, set your budget, and theyāll mail you a box of clothes.
The premise was intriguingācan a stranger dress me better than I can dress myself?āand so I signed up for a few of the services. In truth, I canāt really afford any of this, but I was curious about the business model and the process.
Also, I was sort of drunk and it was Thursday night and, okay there was no friend, it was just, you know, the internetā¦
The three I signed up forāTrunk Club, Five Four Club, Frank & Oakāhave the pretense of being somehow exclusive (hence āclub"), but they arenāt. In fact, as Iāve learned from all of them, if you merely show interest, the companies will reach out with great urgency to enroll you.
The most persistent of these is Trunk Club, which assigns you a real-world personal stylist, who of course doubles as a salesperson.
I ignored two follow-up emails from my assigned stylist Christina (Chase ā Itās your stylist at Trunk Club and Trunk Club ā Still interested?) because I never really intended to give anyone my billing information and because both seemed like the kind of boilerplate emails that computers send.
Then I got a voicemail! āwhich, okay, I also ignored, but no hard feelings, Christina, I ignore voicemails from just about anybody who isnāt calling to give me money.
Iāve written before about how odd it is that our generation is surprised by and even fearful of human interaction (see: modern grocery checkouts), and I confess to being surprised that my digital fiddling resulted in a phonecall.
But if at first I thought this aspect of Trunk Club was overly aggressive, the back-and-forth Iāve just had with this Christina has reminded me why humans are actually the best:
Subject: Last Chance ā Start your Trunk Club Membership
Hi Chase,
I havenāt heard from you since you signed up for Trunk Club. Are you still interested in the service? If so, let me know when we can quickly chat. I only need a few minutes, and then Iāll put together your first trunk.
If youāre no longer interested, thatās totally fine ā please just let me know so I can update my records.
Despite the voicemail, I still wasnāt sure if this came from a computer or a human, but either way I didnāt want more email, so I responded:
Iām afraid that Iāve died, and that my supremely unfashionable family has decided to dress me for the big day themselves. This pains me in ways my necrotic flesh can never feel again. From beyond, I do want to express my gratitude for the ālast chance" offer that you personally scribed to me. For now, Iām a permanent member of a very different ātrunk club," trapped in an outfit unfit for the hellish party to which Iām likely bound. Please update your records accordingly.
Cheeky, I know, but I really didnāt thinkĀ anyoneĀ would actually read it. How wrong was I:
It pains me to hear that you have ventured over to the dark side where, in exchange for blue blazers and Bonobos Weekday Warriors, you are forced to wear a black tuxedo circa 1431. And to sleep in a box.
Should you ever thirst for the warmth of a well-fitting cashmere sweater and a cold beer over Blood Type B andā¦deathā¦you have my contact information. Iām not sure youāll be able to make a phone call in your bat state as your hands will be really little. Too small to handle a Nokia flip phone, if you ask me.
Until then, give yourself a break and treat yourself to something nice from time to time. Years from now after refusing our service will you be like Brad Pitt (I mean, Louis de Pointe du Lac) and ask:
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
