Dear Mr. Jeffries,
Hi there. It's me, Amy. We've never met, but since it seems we won't be sitting at the same lunch table (or crossing paths in your stores) anytime soon, I thought it was important that you get to know me if you're going to hate me. I'm one of the two out of three Americans you can't stand and don't want in your stores. I'm your neighbor. Your doctor. The young woman working behind the hotel check-in desk. I'm your child's third grade teacher. Your sister's best friend. I'm the veterinarian who saved your dog's life...twice. And the lady sitting next to you on the flight to Los Angeles. I'm the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I'm the housewife with one heck of an expendable income. I'm the 13-year-old teetering on the verge of an eating disorder. And the 22-year-old battling depression and low self-esteem. I'm the employee working in your office, living in fear that two pounds are the difference between my paycheck and the unemployment line. I'm the American Woman...and I've got something to say to you.
Mike (can I call you Mike?), I'm not only a fat chick, I'm also a "not-so-cool" kid. Always have been, always will be. I've had 31.5 years to come to terms with that. Along the way I have been bullied, tortured, teased and harassed. Somehow I came out the other end better for it. In case you haven't noticed, those not-so-cool kids are the ones who are passing people like you by-and doing some pretty amazing things. (You can read about a couple of them here and here and here.) Funny thing about wearing your struggle on the outside: it makes you stronger. It teaches you how to adapt. It forces you to dig deep and do more. And while people like you are sitting at the cool kids table intent on holding others down, the ragtag team of not-so-cool kids is busy pulling others up...and we've become an unstoppable force driving the world forward.
You got me, Mike! I don't wear a size 4. You should probably also know that my middle fingers curve ever-so-slightly outward and I have a Morton's toe. I'm terrible at long division and I'm not that great at parallel parking. But I'm a good person. I have an awesome job, great friends and a family that I wouldn't trade for the world. I have mentors with brains as big as their giant hearts, and a rescue dog who is always happy to see me at the end of the day. Like everyone (size 4 or size 24), I have wants and hopes and dreams. I dream of writing a children's book and inheriting a large sum of money so I can open a rescue retirement home for all the old shelter dogs that nobody wants. I'd like to pay for the person behind me at the toll booth sometime, and it'd be nice to get around to taking the "Great American Road Trip" one day. Overall I'm a pretty happy person. I'm a loyal friend and I strive to make the world better whenever and however I can. I love my community and I'm proud to call Columbus home. Although Abercrombie is headquartered here, you don't represent the voice or the spirit of the place I know and love. When people think of this city, it is my hope they'll choose to forget your name and instead think of people like Jeni Britton Bauer and Christian Long and Liz Lessner; doers and thinkers giving Columbus (and humankind) a good name.
As a marketer, I understand where you're coming from on some level, Mike. I really do. When you say "a lot of people don't belong in our clothes-they can't belong," I get it. For consumers, every purchase is a declaration. With each dollar a consumer spends, they are saying, "I am part of this brand and this brand is a part of me. I believe what this brand believes. I support what this brand supports." As I sit here wrapping up this letter, I am proud to say that I may be a not-so-cool kid and the extra pounds I carry may not be a thing of beauty, but I am nothing like you or your brand -- and that, Mr. Jeffries, is a beautiful thing.
Sincerely,
Amy Taylor
