Just so you know, I love Zara in general. If you check out my clothes' labels, a lot of them will prove it. BUT, I'm just reviewing this particular branch.
If you want the general idea, read the next two paragraphs. For an example, read the rest.
The problem: their staff. They are some of the unfriendliest folk who have to deal with customers. They tend to stride around, noses up. One of them actually walked between me and the clothes rack I was looking at, bumping into me. I thought I was being sensitive, but looked at my boyfriend's expression and his eyes were wide, so I know I didn't imagine it. The cashiers act bored and holier-than-thou.
THE PEOPLE IN THE DRESSING ROOMS ARE FANTASTIC. Very friendly, helpful, patient women there. Not sure how there's such a gap in staffing success. I guess they figure if you made it to the cashiers, they got yo' cash already. I don't know. But I usually dread going to this branch and try to go to the one at 20 E Randolph. It's smaller but I'm more comfortable.
If you have the time, let me tell you a story. There once was a holiday party and the night before I realize I have nothing occasion-appriopriate to wear. Also, nearly any party I attend has a minimum of one of my boyfriend's ex-girlfriends. It's just one of those things. And they're not particularly frumpy. So. I'd like to not look like a bad decision to his friends (or the ex-girlfriends).
The next day - yes, the day of the event - I go to Zara. I mean, I'm pressed for time and already know I like their clothes. I find something to wear that makes me look damn fine, cash in, cash out. I get home, already running late, change quickly and find a little surprise. This little surprise came in the form of the plastic security alarm, securely fixed right in the seam of the waist. There's no way I can wear it with a giant gray security alarm right in the middle of the dress. Right that moment, my brain is going #fml #wtf #omg #why. I start trying to break it off until I remember that someone told me they put ink in those things. I go to the party dressed in a skirt and blazer, looking like a teenager at a job interview, with an already sour mood.
I go back to Zara and expect an apology, empathy, an "oh no!" at my story, and get bored hipster eyes and slow-motion undoing-of-the-mistake. I tell them I don't want the dress anymore, and can I just have my money back. It was their mistake, AND I'd left the store after setting off the alarm, apparently. I'm pretty easygoing, and would have been thrilled with a little emotion from them but ended up more irked.
The End. read more