Last night I was heading downtown on the E when I decided that I hadn’t been to Century 21 in a while. In most cities, Century 21 represents a real estate franchise. For New York and New Jersey residents, it’s a department store with steep markdowns on high-end designer and brand name pieces. In the past I’ve gorged on Margiela, Costume National and Yves Saint Laurent. I end up returning about half the items I buy after getting home and realizing I just purchased them because the price was right, not because they suited me. It would be disingenuous not to mention the blue nylon Moschino jacket from the early 2000s that was too Tony Monero or the Vivienne Westwood wrap dress with the multiple strings and holes I couldn’t figure out how to get into. 

There’s a reason why I don’t go often. It’s incredibly congested with merchandise and pushy shoppers. A lot of the red-vested employees clearly look as if they’d rather be anywhere else. Working retail on your feet for 9 hours a day is brutal enough, but in a cluttered environment with thankless customers, it only adds to their respective, permanent sourpuss mugs.

There is one area that isn’t as egregious as the rest of the store—the women’s designer shoe section in the basement. There is still the proverbial pushing and stomping over fallen merchandise, but it’s a bit easier to navigate than the first, second and third floors. In fact, it’s so inviting (relatively speaking), even rodents can’t resist the lure of the floor. During last night’s visit I saw the world’s largest cucaracha attempting to try on a pair of shoes. This roach was the size of a McMansion, but she went from section to section like the rest of us trying to find the best deal. She passed on the Dries Van Noten platforms that had been reduced to $99…perhaps because they were missing a necessary strap that used to be attached to them. Unlike a lot of the women down there, the roach never reached over anyone to grab a shoe. She went about her business without obstructing anyone’s view of the rows and rows of shoes.

The same can’t be said for a young woman with a bulging backpack. It’s not uncommon for a shopper to get inappropriately close in order to take a closer look at a set of pumps you’re standing next to. But I draw the line when someone reaches over. I was pawing a pair of Rag and Bone wedges when the mountain hiker in a sundress extended her arm in an Inspector Gadget manner and reached over me. I advised her that she could have said “excuse me” because clearly she’d forgotten or was never taught proper discount store shopping etiquette in the first place. When she asked “who me?”, I answered in a “DUH” tone and said “Yeah YOU.” What kind of Who Stole the Cookie From the Cookie Jar foolishness was she keen on pulling? What would be her next response? “Couldn’t be”?

Environments like Century and sample sales bring out the worst in consumers. There’s often disorganization because the items have been picked over or there’s too much product and limited customer service. The incentive of a special piece—a special piece at 80% off—leads some people to leave their manners at the door. I remember going to the Prada sample sale in the summer of 2006 and was shocked that a mother had left her baby in a stroller nestled in the corner while she shopped the floor.

There’s a great deal of personal value attributed to high-end pieces. When we’re able to score them at a fraction of their street value, we feel smarter than the average consumer but,  in our heads, we’re permitted the same elevated status. In Reforming Women’s Fashion, Patricia A. Cunningham writes that, “Not only is clothing important to denote group membership, but in many ways it expresses women’s sense of self-worth, and clearly it fulfills a fantasy of achieving the American dream of wealth and prosperity.”

Linking dress and self-worth isn’t inherently American. Most cultures place value in some form or another in dress and adornment. What is unique is the sense of accumulation. Century caters to our need for excess, a good deal and instant gratification. If a cucaracha is able to go unnoticed while zipping around and trying on a pair of designer shoes, there’s too much stuff on the floor. If a young woman with a school-bus sized backpack thinks it’s ok to stretch her arm over people to inspect a shoe as opposed to waiting her turn, she needs to go to the top of a mountain and reflect on her behavior. If I’m going back to the store first thing tomorrow morning to return a pair of Rag and Bone jeans because I didn’t try them on at the store, perhaps I need to go with the mountain hiking girl to that apex and reflect as to why I keep going back.