An Open Letter to the Urban Outfitters Catalog That Arrived on Friday
Dear Urban Outfitters Catalog,
First of all, let me just say that I am not sure how you ended up at our house. I am not on your mailing list. I don't think anyone else who lives here is either, and our magazine subscriptions are kind of schizophrenic (Foreign Policy, The Economist, Esquire, and Cosmopolitan. It's like Dr. Wonk and Mr. Bimbo live at our house).
But we all know that magazines are like venereal diseases - they spread and proliferate. You get a mild case of Victoria's Secret, and the next thing you know, you've got full-blown Frederick's of Hollywood and Diesel.
I have a feeling it was the Victoria's Secret catalog that invited you. But no matter - I did pick you up and flick through you through some sort of sense of misguided duty.
You confuse me, Urban Outfitters catalog. I get that it's your summer issue, which explains all the swimsuits and weird, shirt-dress combinations that do not look appropriate for anything other than a beach cover-up, but the catalog seems to feature a cast of twelve-year-olds having some sort of unsupervised bacchanalia in a beach house.
Is that even legal? You can't even rent a car in most states until you're 24, and I highly doubt any self-respecting owner is going to rent to a posse of high-schoolers.
Also, no one really looks like they're having fun - they all look cranky and petulant. No one appears to have brushed their hair in a few weeks, and there are some very questionable choices in footwear.
How do I put this gently? I don't think we're your, well, target demographic, if you know what I mean. If you decide to do a line of 'modest Amish' or 'demure secretary' clothes, feel free to give me a call, but until then, I don't think I'm going to need the 'sideboob crocheted beach cover-up' or 'ill-advised vaguely shirtish-like dress thing.'
Also, call those kids' parents. None of them look like they're eating enough.