My First Trip to Urban Outfitters

I consider buying a small cactus for £7.

Yes, I could be kicked out of Bristol for saying this but until today I had never shopped at the Holy Grail that is ‘Urban’.  I hadn’t realised it was a thing until Uni, when it quickly became clear that it was the Go-To for anything mesh, faux-vintage or sporty-when-you-don’t-really-do-sport.

Entering Urban Outfitters is like breaking into the wardrobe of any student. There are so many different types of fashion here, from floral chiffon to chunky FILA sweatshirts. I think anyone could see themselves buying something (if you are willing to miss meals to be able to afford it).

The main test in Urban is you cannot question the relevance of any of these things 

The photo-booth and tables of journals and neon signs and light-embellished curtain really shouldn’t work here but actually really do. I don’t know what they add to the experience of trying on ‘reworked’ adidas, but, there you go.

Just some light reading 

Seeing as it is Valentines day soon, there is a stall dedicated to the theme. I sidle up expecting some cute clothes decorated with hearts. Instead, I see completely transparent t-shirts, shorts and bras, topped off with a sex-position book. I guess if you wear some classic Reeboks, it’s acceptable to pull out Position of the Day Playbook on the Number 16 for some light reading. I casually scuffle away from the stalls trying to look unfazed.

Neither Vegan or Norwegian, but I want these books 

Vegan positions and hygge aside, I am actually surprised by how much I love the clothes. From nights out to chucking something on for a lecture, I am already creating outfits in my head. I rock up to the cloak-room with 14 items and come face to face with one cushion that demands I have GOOD VIBES and a cat pillow, clearly judging how keen I am.

Everyone knows that cat is cooler than I am 

 For a few seconds, I consider shoving all the bright mustard throws and marble-pattern sheets into a bag, dragging them back to Stokey-B and completely redecorating my room. Then realise I would probably have to sell my soul to do so and instead throw another nearby t-shirt onto my pile.

In most other shops this would not be ok, but Pink Polar Bear Chic works here. 

The guy in the changing room helps me with my items. I am about to excitedly tell him it is my first time in Urban Outfitters, but I clock his edgily vintage bright-pink sweater and edgily edgy facial hear and decide not to engage in conversation. The changing rooms are wooden and the doors have drawn on key-holes because why go for a curtain when you can have that? I have to say I’m pleased there are doors not curtains so no one can peek round the edges and see how keenly I’m trying everything on and posing in the mirror for far longer than is acceptable.

I feel like my bedroom would be improved with every single one of these cacti pots.

I try on a good range of things, from crop-tops to denim skirts, to sweaters to plaid shirts, but most of them have a grungy, effortless vibe (or so I think as I put effort into posing grungily and effortlessly in the mirror). I particularly like the Calvin Klein crop-top. I’ve never been into an actual Calvin Klein store because I think they’d kick me out for not having a six-pack, but it doesn’t seem so daunting when it’s on a rack next to books that read You Are So Awesome or The Avocado Cookbook. So I try on a grey crop-top with a plaid shirt. It’s an ensemble I wouldn’t normally think of but I think inspiration came to me somewhere between the vintage record-player and the cactus-shaped candles.

The hair-shooshy thing is completely unposed 

I’m enjoying glaring at myself moodily and shrugging on clothes that all look good together. Then I look at the price tags… It’s hard to look effortless in an outfit that would eat up a large percentage of my student loan. Once the prices are taken into account, I realise the Calvin-Klein crop top is just a stretched bit of grey fabric with the name of a 74 year old man printed on my rib cage. I also notice the plaid shirt could easily have just fallen off the hanger in my Dad’s cupboard. Yes, the Adidas dress is also just a bit of fabric with a logo but I have to come away from my first Urban Outfitters trip with at least one prize, ok?

Sad to admit this is potentially the most edgy thing I've ever owned... 

As I head for the till, I think for a second about the cactuses. How many of my books could I stuff under my bed to leave room on my shelves to start a spikey plant collection? I decide over-thinking my décor is too uptight and is not good-vibey enough for this place. I leave the shop clutching the paper bag which defines my student identity more than my U-Card. 

In its rightful place at the front of the 16 Bus.