No, read that a little slower. I don’t want it ruff, I want a ruff. Okay, maybe I want it, too, but if that were the main theme of this article, I would have used the correct spelling of the word. Moving on.

I remember going to the circus once in my life and not being particularly enchanted by it. The modern acts didn’t thrill me at age 6, and I certainly wouldn’t pay a couple hundred dollars now to watch unhappy, mistreated animals plod around with their heads down, or to laugh at completely generic, mindless slapstick comedy routines (that’s what George Bush and Britney Spears are for). There’s something I’ve always loved, however, about antique circus art, be it from the harlequin-oriented Victorian era or the tattooed 20’s. Where are today’s knife throwers, horseback dancers and puddle divers?

I suppose most of them probably died practicing their craft, and not many have attempted to recreate the feats more recently. I know I wouldn’t.

I’ll tell you what I would do, though: I would wear the aforementioned ruff, or a daintily-puffed princess sleeve (or maybe even a full-blown mutton like Lanvin showed last season). Most of us are already wearing leotards as outerwear thanks to American Apparel’s (head scumbag) Dov Charney — why not add some sequins to the equation? As an aspiring editorial wardrobe stylist, I have been dubbed “steam punk” in my garment choices- and, though I’m not fond of the term — (Hi, Dances of Vice holds a Victorian-to-30’s-themed party?! Queen Victoria’s reign began in 1837, which makes that theme a century-long time span. Take a quick second to look at Wikipedia and see how much fashion evolved during that period.) I find that, alright, sure, I do own about 12 Dover clip art books full of Victorian art from my brief obsession with becoming a tattooer, I appreciate the subject matter of many of The Decemberists’ songs, and I like pocket watches, monocles and compasses! So sue me. What I’m trying to get at is now, of all times, is probably the easiest time to ever walk around New York in a majorette-type ensemble and not get beat up.

Okay, so you hate me now. You think I’m the most pretentious 1850’s hipster you’ve ever (not really) met and you think, if I dislike the 21st century so much, maybe I should go back to my own time/ maybe I should marry the 19th.

But, shit, I own J Brands, and I’m blogging here. And I just think it’s time to clown around!

The Setting: an American Apparel store in Brooklyn

The Characters: 2 girls, about 13 years old, and me

And, scene:

I am waiting to try on some cropped cotton pants, which will be perfect for the new gym I joined.

“Ugh, this is SO tight, I look SO fat!” says one 13 year old girl. She and her friend are occupying the only dressing rooms.

She emerges, in a backless leotard and a skin-tight mini skirt.

Her friend emerges as well, in gold lame hot pants.

“No, you look cute! I like it!”

“But like, you can see my back.”

“Yeah but it’s so cute! My ass looks huge in these,” she says, as they stand in the open dressing room, preening and posing in front of the harshly lit mirror. I am still waiting, but they don’t seem to notice, instead gazing like Narcissus at the river. How inappropriate, I think, that 13-year-old girls are trying on gold lame hot pants. Then I look around and see the life-sized photographs of underage models staring down at me. They look drugged out. They are overly sexualized. Suddenly I don’t want the pants anymore. I throw them down and leave.

The Setting: an American Apparel store in Manhattan

The Characters: Me and a friend

And, scene:

It is Friday night and my friend and I are tipsy. We have just finished a mostly-liquid dinner, and the night air is much colder than we thought it would be.

“I need more layers!” I exclaim.

“I need a hat”, says my friend.

Luckily for us, the American Apparel store on the Lower East Side is open until 11pm. For fun, I try on some ridiculous faux-denim skin-tight almost-up-to-my-boobs leggings. They, as expected, look hilarious. I end up buying a blue long sleeve shirt, which will go perfectly under the dress I’m wearing. As I peruse the store, I notice something besides the models this time: I have that shirt, in 2 colors. “I like that dress”, my friend says. Oh, I have that too. I also have 2 pairs of these leggings with the buttons on the side, and 3 ribbed tank tops. Don’t forget 1 pair of shorts and 1 pair of leg warmers, 1 over-sized long-sleeve shirt and a halter dress.

Whoa. Do I have an addiction to American Apparel? The store whose billboards make me want to vom? How can this be!? I’m so embarrassed…

I discovered this a common sentiment among my friends. “Yeah, Dov Charney is so creepy, but their shirts come in so many colors!”

“I know, those models are gross, but I can’t live without AA tights…”

“They make a dress, that’s also a sweatshirt!”

So I’m torn. Girls, help me out. How do you feel about shopping at a store whose labor practices/advertising/environmental policy you don’t agree with? Do you boycott stores you’d otherwise shop at because of something they do? Is it even possible to avoid those evil corporate practices?

My family gave up shopping at WalMart ages ago, but we can still get our cheap box store fix at Target. If I boycott American Apparel but shop at say, H&M or Forever 21, am I just trading one evil for another?

Oh the brightly colored, many layered dilemma…

I’ve talked about American Apparel before. Those ads that look like porn with bad lighting? Those models who may or may not be underage but who are definitely bored and affected?Well, it gets better.

A contributor for Jezebel (one of the funniest gossip sites out there) recently wrote about her experience working at the enigma that is A. Apparel, proving that it’s not just their ads that are pretensions and strange.

“I thought cocaine was kind of scandalous when I started working at American Apparel. And so I naturally found it kind of scandalous that a major coke dealer actually served as a kind of informal HR chief for many of the American Apparel stores in New York.” The Jezebel story begins, going on to explain about the monstrosity that is Dov Charney—the Canadian founder of A.A.

Stories that Charney “masturbated in front of a reporter, berated girls for not finding him hot enough “pussy” with which to staff his stores, [and] took certain female retail employees as glorified concubines whom he would house in special American Apparel apartments and whose shitty retail wages he would subsidize with special allowances” were all apparently true, as well as his famously annoying voice, which was “shrill and weird and babyish.”

A sex addict with a baby voice who’s also an asshole? Sounds like he could be in the running for one of the worst bosses in the history of retail. Or the world.

When there’s a disgusting idiot helming a company who says things like “It is imperative that the people who wear our clothes are really attractive, vain hipsters, and any priority they exhibit that runs counter to looking really awesome should be a warning sign that maybe they should not work here”, it’s not hard to see why A. Apparel is so ridiculous.

I mean, how can a place have good energy if “vain hipsters” who don’t care about anything except “looking awesome” run things? Sure, the chain is successful, but someday (and someday soon) short shorts for guys and gold bodysuits for girls are going to go out of style.

And nobody will care. Except the people who have closets full of them. They might cry.

Oh, and PS? If you’re ever going to take a journey inside A.A (say perhaps, for Halloween? Which is the only reason I’ve ever gotten close to the Mecca of attitude), make sure to wear earplugs. Unless you really dig booming electropop by artists you’re not cool enough to know.

Like the people surrounding it, the music at American Apparel leaves much to be desired.

A couple months ago, we featured the creepiness that is Dov Charney, the owner of American Apparel.

Sure, the man looks like a serial killer and admits to getting it on with, like, every one of his employees, but he sure knows how to sell a product!

We’ve all seen the ads – the racy, half-naked and scantily clad models (think the HOT Abercrombie & Fitch ads meets younger-looking hipsters). There’s something raw about these ads, almost dirty – and that’s exactly what is getting younger-looking hipsters to buy into the brand.

According to AMNY, one of the store managers said, “This is the Lower East Side….I would be disappointed in the neighborhood if it was offended by this. It’s not pornographic. This is art.”

The catch?

“The American Apparel ad may be in violation of state penal code section 245, which makes the “public display of offensive sexual material” punishable by up to a year in jail. Yet the penal code only applies if the display “appeals to prurient interest in sex,” a murky legal definition that is very hard to prove in court,” says AMNY.

So, is it tasteless sex or is it art?

I say it’s neither. It’s good advertisement, plain and simple. It goes along with what they’ve been trying to do all along, and I’m not surprised. So what if it pushes the envelope? This country is already ridiculous when it comes to the “Sex Sells” motto! True, anyone looking at these videos is gonna think SEX immediately – especially American Apparel’s college-aged target. But everything makes us think sex. The bananas in the dining hall make us think sex. Why not enjoy some harmless porn-like advertising on your way to class? That is, if you’re lucky enough to live in NYC.

But then the double standard kicks in, which makes me mad. They can show boobs in their windows but no man junk? What gives? I guess that, in the end, this proves that boobs are no big deal anyway. These ads will only create more buzz for the brand.

Boobs sell. No big deal. We all got ‘em.

I’m not trying to get into fisticuffs with Mary from Dartmouth, but I have to make an argument against buying American Apparel. I know, I know, it’s all American-made and sweatshop-free, but it is also run by one of the most disgusting, misogynistic pricks on the face of the earth.

What is the point of being all synthetically moral when the CEO is horrifically anti-women? The sexual harassment lawsuits against Dov Charney (and there are many) not only claim that he has coerced his employees to have sex, but on a far more frightening level that he has created an “intolerable” and “intimidating” sexual atmosphere.

American Apparel offices are wallpapered with Penthouse and Oui magazine cutouts, and Charney boasts about having sex with employees and jerking off in-front-of/on them. Fans of Jane magazine may remember when Claudine Ko interviewed Charney and he jerked off in front of her during their interview. Eight times.

Oh, he also said that women who complain about sexual harassment are merely suffering from “victim culture”. Charney has said, “Out of one thousand sexual harassment claims, how many do you think are exploitive?” Not to mention that oh-so-quotable gem that “women initiate domestic violence.”

This guy is the scum of the universe. I’m not in favor of exploiting millions of underage Philippinos for twelve cents an hour, but I have no interest in supporting a company that bluntly – nay, proudly – exploits women. Have some respect for your gender.

If you really want to be sweatshop-free, visit Sweatshop Watch for a continually updated list of sweatshop-free brands.