Welcome to my store. We sell things. What sorts of things? Well, as you’ll soon discover, only two of the things we sell are useful, and the other 437 things we sell are perfect for throwing against the wall or snapping in half when you have an inevitable panic meltdown about owning too many things.
All of these things are for women. We love women.
On your left, we have things that resemble plates, but they can’t be used as plates because they are too small. Or maybe, you think, they could be plates for hamsters. They aren’t. These things are actually things to place candles on. So, a candleholder? Well, no. It doesn’t really hold a candle; it just sort of goes underneath the candle. They’re rosy pink. Not so bright pink as to insult you, but pink enough to remind you that you are feminine. They cost $144 each.
Besides those things is a little basket of these other things. They might be ornaments. They’d look perfect on a Christmas tree. Except it isn’t Christmas time, so it feels silly buying ornaments. And if you were to ask me if they were Christmas ornaments, I’d tell you no. Those aren’t ornaments. Those are just things. As you can see, they don’t have hooks or strings, but you could balance them carefully on a branch, I guess. They cost $24. Also, without any explanation, there’s a small note card that says purchasing these things support disadvantaged women in some far off country.
Along the wall is a gorgeous oak shelf. It’s stunning. It is not for sale. But on the oak shelf are an array of things that would look great on a table. They don’t necessarily hold anything or prop anything else up. In fact, they are very fragile things and shouldn’t be put close to other things. These things are perfect for the girl boss in your life, whatever that phrase means.
There’s a sort of shiny brass orb that you can’t fully see your reflection in and retains the smudged fingerprints of anyone who has ever touched it. The small one costs $186 and the large one is the cost for one semester’s room and board at a state university.
Oh, you came into the store because of the cute succulents hanging from the ceiling by a rope? We sell those. Not the plants — we’re not a nursery. But there is a coil of rope for sale and instructions on how to buy everything else you need from a hardware store to recreate the visual we have in our window display. The price of the rope is $480 because we are selling an experience. That experience is womanhood. No further questions, please.
By the register are a bunch of trinkets, cousins of things. Beside the trinkets are knick-knacks. My personal favorite thing is a little wooden block that says THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE AREN’T THINGS. It’s a funny little nod to what we do here. And like many other funny little nods, it costs $38, not including tax, which is somehow another $38.
I can tell you’re getting fatigued by looking around the store, trying to find the two things I mentioned that are of practical use. You’re simultaneously overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things we have and underwhelmed by how shallow they are. Let me help you.
Here is a garden-variety bottle opener. It says FEMINISM on it because that is, inexplicably, the core value of our store. I should have mentioned that as soon as you walked in, but I keep forgetting that not everyone can link ceramic toothbrush stands to the political, economic, and social fight for gender equality.
Please don’t mention that there are more than two genders or that the concept for this store is vapid and entirely misses the point of feminism. We’d have to do an entire store rebrand, and in a rage, I’d flip the center display case with all of the vases that can’t actually hold water or they’d dissolve. The other thing we sell is a broom for when that inevitably happens. On the handle are the words MERYL SWEEP. The price? Your integrity.