If you've been shopping for fashionable ladies' clothing lately (not you, Clay Aiken!), you may have noticed the weird naming trend embraced by mall fixtures like Ann Taylor, Banana Republic and Coldwater Creek.
For instance, are you an "Audrey?" At Ann Taylor, that's the name of the pant that sits exactly on your natural waist, attends PTA meetings in a punctual manner and always volunteers to help make the Popsicle-stick arks at Vacation Bible School.
Audrey is the Good Girl, while "Margo," with a slightly dropped waist, is more of a loose cannon. Margo votes Democratic and once painted her dining room walls cathouse red "just because."
A few racks over, "Lindsey," sits lowest of all on the waist. It's easy to imagine Audrey hanging on the rack and sniping that Lindsey really should act her age, not prance about looking like a 16-year-old sucking on frozen lemonade at Forever 21 where all of the clothes are probably named "Paris."
Over at Coldwater Creek, you can choose from the uber natural sounding "Willow," "Ivy," "Brook" and "Holly" clothing lines. The clothes don't look particularly outdoorsy so the names are puzzling, but they're not nearly as curious as the ones at Banana Republic: "Martin," "Jackson" and "Harrison." I don't know where they get the idea that women want to buy clothes named after dead presidents.
I can't wait to see if the naming trend sifts down market to, say, Wal-Mart and Kmart, where things may get a little more real.
Frankly, Margo doesn't really tell me anything.
A pair of jeans named "Reba Fay" or "Sha-Nae-Nae" tells me right away that they're gonna fit perfectly.
It would be easier if they named jeans for celebrities so you'd know exactly what you were getting without even having to try 'em on ... "Mary Kate" for itty-bitty jeans that come with a cartoonishly oversized Starbuck's latte; "Angelina Jolie" for jeans that are sold with two tiny Malawian orphans stitched right into the back pockets; "Katie Holmes" jeans which spell out "help me!" in the fabric if examined very closely; and "Dina Lohan" for jeans that look OK from a distance but, when you get closer, are actually completely transparent.
For men, there could be "Ryan Seacrest" jeans, made entirely of cheese, and "John Mayer" jeans, which, when removed, become instantly bored and walk themselves over to the house of the next "it" girl in Hollywood.
Victoria's Secret, once famous for its sweet-sounding "Emma" line, seems to be going in a different direction these days.
The company's much-ballyhooed bra, the Ipex Wireless, doesn't scream sexy romance; it just reminds me that it's time to pay my cell phone bill. Something tells me that Audrey would approve.
