Mall-nightclub grotto Abercrombie & Fitch has finally given in. After years of flailing sales, they will modify their aesthetic to suit the modern teen. The company is turning down their popped collar and trying not to look back.
Notably — though it pains them immeasurably — Abercrombie plans to cool it on the sinus-headache-nightclub aura of their stores. They will remove the blinds and enormous posters of washboard stomachs. They will spray less scent; they will turn down the music.
It is not only superficial changes; Lindsey Rupp reports in Bloomberg that stalwart CEO Mike Jeffries is taking a demotion. After a 77 percent decrease in profits last year, Jeffries's array of totalitarian clothing rules are up for reconsideration. Abercrombie will minimize their logos. They will sell bigger sizes. They might consider selling clothing in the (Goth, shudder) hue of black.
For Abercrombie missed its teens. Teens were Abercrombie's lifeblood and without them, what purpose did they have? What good is a nightclub without people to enjoy its Axe-scent fog and lagoon lighting? If a techno beat thumps into an empty room, do the hangers even rattle unsettlingly?