Maybe Not Forever

Forever 21 has filed for bankruptcy. This filing, the second since 2019, will close all stores. Does this mean the end —or at least the beginning of the end—for "fast fashion"? I for one can hope.

Selling cheaply produced and cheap to buy versions of trends aimed at the young and fickle, Forever 21 was founded in 1984 in Los Angeles by Korean immigrants, Do Wan Chang and Jin Sook Chang. They grew to 540 stores, mostly in malls, as well as having an online site.  By 2010 Forever 21 was so powerful it opened a two-story stand-alone branch outside a suburban Houston mall.

Waiting to open at Baybrook mall, 2010

At first I assumed Forever 21 was aimed at older women hoping to hold onto their youthful pizazz. I wasn't that far off as the founders believed "old people want to be 21 and young people want to be 21 forever". Even being 21 must seem old to teeny boppers, who inhabit their own fashion universe.  

Slightly off-putting were the words “John 3:16,” printed on Forever 21's shopping bags, that fueled suspicion the company was part of a Chinese cult. The mention was explained as a reference to a Bible verse that "shows how much God loves us".

Forever 21 encouraged a cringe-worthy, body-baring, over-sharing style of clothing that (my opinion here) eventually trickled down into mainstream fashion. It sold everything from apparel to shoes to accessories for both men and women, aka boys and girls.

As far as the eye can see...

Forever 21 followed in the footsteps of Abercrombie and Pac-Sun in its appeal to the young and gave new life to old mall brands like Charlotte Russe. I think its popularity encouraged Target to up its game and compete in this lucrative market. Coincidentally Forever 21 never had the cache of Zara or TopShop. They fought some contentious legal battles with established designers such as Anna Sui and Diane Von Furtstenberg over copying. The outcome was inconclusive as clothing designs can't be copyrighted.

Did I ever shop there? As an equal opportunity shopper, in the beginning, yes. And I did find one or two things I actually wore—a raincoat, I think, and some chunky costume jewelry that wasn't trying to be anything but. As time went on fashion changes/they changed/I changed...who knows? Unlike many, many other places that have closed (the flagship Neiman Marcus in downtown Dallas!), I won't mind that Forever 21 didn't last, well, forever.

This was never me...

 

Ah, the New Yorker!

Issue #1

The New Yorker, the magazine, is celebrating its first hundred years in 2025. Few publications I enjoyed when I was young are still around; this one taught me how to be a grown-up.

I was twelve and had a regular Saturday night gig babysitting for a family who had moved to Cleveland from the east coast. They brought with them a subscription to The New Yorker, delivered weekly then as now. After the kids were safely stowed away in bed I plunked myself down in the living room, which I can still picture in all its faux-1955-Colonial glory: an upholstered wing chair facing the fireplace with a reading lamp and magazine rack by its side. 

Every week there appeared on that rack a new copy of The New Yorker, and every week I went through it page by page. Did I read any articles? No. I did look at every cartoon and enjoyed the completely unrelated illustrations that decorated pages of text.

What caught my attention week after week were the ads. The companies never changed. Maybe Brooks Brothers had a different jacket or that week were advertising shirts, but there was always a Brooks Brothers ad, and it always looked the same. There were many, many tiny ads—for basket bags from Nantucket, pure Scottish cashmere argyle socks, hickory walking sticks from Maine, etc.—a plethora of goods that were never advertised or seemingly needed in Ohio. The focus of goods seemed necessary for the lifestyle of New Yorkers. I assumed they took a lot of vacations.

I soon realized that New York City was THE place to be. In another year I would have decided to move there myself as soon as possible, although college in NYC was a dream that never materialized. I had no idea what I was going to do in Manhattan, but I assumed when I arrived I would need my family tartan kilt, or at least a gold safety pin, and a handmade fishing creel, and Belgian shoes (whatever they were) and anything else that was continuously advertised in the New Yorker. 

In reality, when I really did become a New Yorker, I rarely bought the magazine. If I looked at a copy in a waiting room it was still for the cartoons or to read one of their pithy short movie reviews. The New York Times had become my source for all things New York (and still is). 

Exhibit at the New York Public Library

There was more, much more to it than the magazine itself. The New Yorker has a mystique and a history that has filled many books. What seems like a terrific exhibit at the New York Public Library celebrates The New Yorker in all its aspects. Wish I could click my feet together and take it in, and I might do that. It will be up until February 2026.

Just for fun I got a copy of the current issue. The cover price: $9.99, 78 pages, almost all solid text. No little postage stamp-sized ads. Hardly any ads at all. One for a hotel or apartment in Dubai (didn't say which), a couple ads for New Yorker related items, two institutional ads (NAACP and a benefit for God's Love We Deliver). The only other ads: Loro Piana, the Wall Street Journal Wine Club and Skechers. The New Yorker is still teaching us how to be New Yorkers after all.