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As if the department store owned the women who slid so gracefully through their automatic doors, who had done all they could in their lives to become their own individual selves, who had agonized over how they wanted to smell and appear,As if the department store owned the women who slid so gracefully through their automatic doors, who had done all they could in their lives to become their own individual selves, who had agonized over how they wanted to smell and appear, who had cried while looking in the mirror, who had gained unwanted weight when they had babies, lost too much weight when their fathers and mothers died, who made love with their husbands when they didn’t want to, fucked their bosses when they knew they shouldn’t, made pacts with themselves that they would be better, that they would try harder to be better, which only added to their deep exhaustion, their understanding that no matter what they did, no matter how hard they tried, they could not escape the traps that had been set for them: an escalator offering to take them away, into the impossibly aspirational Designer section. The whole operation suddenly seemed unrelenting, oblivious, even cruel....more