Let me just say this: I know my way around shopping. Besides budgeting, getting to the store early is crucial. If I truly wanted a piece of the Lilly Pulitzer for Target launch, I would have been lined up at dawn like some of my friends were posting on Facebook. As I scrolled through updates around 7 a.m., I saw reports of long lines at Target locations all over the East Coast. Another friend mentioned that the Target website had already crashed due to the overwhelming demand from Lilly enthusiasts.
But early morning sales, especially on Black Friday, aren’t my scene. The frenzy terrifies me, and the hype surrounding Lilly felt similarly intense. So, I went about my usual Sunday routine, dropping off kids for Sunday School at 8:45 before heading to my local Target in Rockville, MD, just to see what the fuss was about. When I rolled into the parking garage at 9:04—behind a line of SUVs and minivans—every parking spot was taken, even the ones furthest from the entrance. The usually empty second level was packed. I felt a sinking feeling, akin to the shock when a beloved celebrity trends on Twitter—but not for good reasons.
At that moment, I transitioned from eager shopper to mere observer. I began to understand my husband’s bewilderment over why people rush to wear certain things at specific times. Trends confuse him, and he finds clothing choices dull; he enjoys the military for its daily uniformity. Typically, I play the role of trend translator, explaining the allure of the latest styles. But that was about to change.
Even before I noticed the giant flamingo hanging overhead, the crowd of women gathered below had me on alert. The atmosphere felt less like happy shoppers and more like a stunned audience at a horrific accident. I’m a natural rubbernecker, so I was drawn to the scene but approached cautiously. It was unlike anything I’d seen at any store sale before.
The Lilly Pulitzer for Target displays were completely ravaged, reminiscent of a market before a storm. A cluster of women monopolized the aisle, their carts overflowing with LPfT goodies—clothes, pillows, and folding lounge chairs. They resembled scalpers at a preppy prom, murmuring offers amongst themselves, trying to avoid detection by the store’s ever-watchful eye. “I’ve got a size 10 high-waisted bikini, but I need a 6,” one impeccably dressed woman casually remarked. As I glanced around, I noticed a stylish shift being traded from one cart to another. Yes, cart—more like a cartel.
The atmosphere was civil yet charged. Well-dressed moms, sorority girls, and women in yoga pants had thrown everything they could find into their carts, regardless of their actual interest or size. Once the shelves were bare, they began bartering their loot like currency. The term “Ladies Behaving Badly” hardly captured the scene. There was nothing left for those who hadn’t participated in the frenzy. What mattered was possession, even if they had no intention of keeping what they acquired, using it to negotiate for items they genuinely desired.
Perhaps it was the sight of the glaringly empty shelves or the carnival-like reflections of the women in the mirrors, but that’s when I experienced the same lack of shopping enthusiasm as my husband. I found myself wanting nothing—not even to be involved with the women trading goods they hadn’t purchased, using them as status symbols in the Lilly Pulitzer social hierarchy. Although I considered sharing a photo on Facebook, all I wanted was to escape Lillyland as quickly as possible. Sure, I know how to shop. But whatever vibe was being sold beneath the flamingo was just not for me.