Holister Scares the Living Shit out of me

That's right, Living Shit, capital letters. I know that my age puts me far outside of the Holister target demographic but that doesn't mean I can avoid them. There is one in the new MyZeil Gallery in Frankfurt and which is gifted with Europes longest escalator that carries you straight to a Coa restaurant. Coa is a chain of 2000-y health Asian food fusion thingies that has food good enough sell one of your closer relations for. Maybe a cousin. In fact the whole set up seems to be made with Led Zeppelin 'Stairway to Heaven' jokes in mind. It's that good. Hang on I seem to have wandered off for a moment there...

Oh yes...Holister = Evil got it.

Like I was saying, I am fully aware that this little rant make me look like a decrepit pensioner trying to chase little snot chavs off of my front lawn, what with their flash dancing, hip hopping and lower back tattoos, but just look at the place!!

They keep the lights so low anyone over the age of 16 will continually bump into the fixtures or find themselves caught in an unwilling close encounter with the homoerotic wall spanning photos ripped straight out of a Playgirl magazine they decorate this hellish abode with. They fill the air with some putrescent, pheromone laced skunk musk to attract more of the braces wielding, training bra wearing, voice cracking, Tobey McGuire in Spider-Man 3 hairdo sporting zombies and then artificially limit the their occupancy rate to force the rest of us human beings to have to walk past this cavalcade of awkward pubescence. Look at the first picture, they have a chandelier hanging at genital height, those vile, tasteless philistines!!!

The whole get up doesn't so much shout "hip, edgy clothing retail branch" as it does "satanic goth-rock BDSM night club/rape shack". Any time I am forced to pass this place, I am struck by an adrenaline fueled fight-or-flight response as I am sure that one of the Ken Doll, 14-pack ab equipped, grape smuggling speedo models with excellently moisturized skin bouncers is going to clasp me between his faked tanned fingers, and with a flick of his purpose styled and highlighted surfer mop, hurl me into this den of sin and despair, where the succubi sales assistants will do unimaginably horrific things to me before I emerge 45 minutes later feeling skeezy, oily and supremely violated, carrying a paper bag of $65 dollar v-neck t-shirts that I would need to go on a all smoothie and wheat grass diet to squeeze into.

These places are Hellmouths I swear it!To make matters worse, the targeted demographic won't even get that reference!!