When Nordstrom killed off Trunk Club last year, they sent me a gift basket to thank me for being a loyal customer and, presumably, to nudge me toward shifting my business to whatever personal-shopping service the company had devised as a replacement.
I had been a member of Trunk Club since 2015, which meant that periodically I would receive a box of clothes and a cheerful note from a stylist who’d pretend that we knew one another and that we were both preternaturally enthusiastic about blazers. “Hey Zachary! It’s our favorite time of year again: single-breasted linen season!” That sort of thing. I’d have up to a week to send back whatever I didn’t want (including the blazers more times than not) and would only be billed for what I kept.
Upon Trunk Club’s demise, I accepted Nordstrom’s gift basket but ignored the company’s plea to re-up for more personal shopping, in part because I was pretty sure my Trunk Club stylist had decided I was a lesbian.
The options I received kept getting more and more flannel and earth-toned and seemingly intended for, like, wearing around the campfire at a wimyn-only wilderness retreat or maybe volunteering at a pit bull rescue. Basically, Jo from The Facts of Life—sporting her Eastland School blazer, of course—was Trunk Club’s idea of my brand, and I just don’t think I’m butch enough to pull that off.
Mind you, not everything Trunk Club sent toward the end was Jo-esque. Some stuff fell under a category I’ll call “Relaxed Dad.” A pair of Børn loafers I kept, for instance, are dead ringers for the beat-up house shoes my own relaxed dad wore when I was a kid.
My husband, Frank, who prefers flashier footwear, loathes these loafers. He considers them dumpy and unsexy and, frankly, a little menacing, as if they were the sort of shoes Jim Bob Duggar would slip into before heading out to find a new owner for one of his daughters.
Do I myself like the shoes? I mean, not really, but when has that ever kept anything out of the regular rotation in my wardrobe?
Obviously, I think too highly of Jo from The Facts of Life to suggest she’d ever be caught dead in these things. Natalie might wear them, though.
The worst part of Trunk Club was returning the stuff I didn’t want. I always worried the package wouldn’t reach its final destination and I’d have to pay for clothes I didn’t like and didn’t even have in my possession.
The closest that ever came to taking place was the time I happened upon a guy ransacking the Trunk Club box I had set behind the (locked) front door in the foyer of my apartment building so that the UPS driver would see the package when he made his rounds.
“You caught me being sneaky,” the porch pirate said, flashing a playful grin I found entirely inappropriate under the circumstances.
But given his demeanor, I thought maybe he’d abandon his raid if I also remained eerily friendly, so I was like, “Aw, that’s all right—those are just some things I’m shipping out.” Like, NBD, honest mistake, why don’t I take those blazers and dad loafers off your hands and we can both be on our way?
I’m happy to report he did withdraw—though not before asking if I wanted to buy some cocaine.
“No thank you,” I said. “I have to work today.” As though my pesky day job were the only thing preventing me from buying drugs from this lovable rascal who had tried to rob me moments before.
Let’s face the facts (of life): When it comes to street smarts, I’m no Jo. I’m not even Natalie. I’m Mrs. Garrett.
Indirect Objects 