An Ode to Target, or how I learned to stop having morals and love the big box store.

I love Portland, I do. But there are just some things that the Midwest does...well, better. First of all, seeing old pals is way easier in the Midwest, and shopping at chain stores with them is considered a solid way to spend a Friday night. At least in my book.

I know I've derided Target before on this blog. In particular, their "designer collaborations." And, given how much their corporate powers-that-be hate gay people, it's not like I feel 100% awesome about loving this store so much. But ever since moving to Portland and being an hour(?!?!?) away from one, I've never lusted after anything as much as I lust after that physical space where I can buy toothpaste, a 5-pack of Fruit of the Loom undies, a lace skirt, and a plunger. When I lived in Wheaton, I could get to that delightful place in less than 15 minutes.

Now, there's nothing better than Portland's boutique/thrift scene. However, thrifting takes effort (can I really find three different ways to wear this musty-smelling sequin blazer? No? BACK ON THE RACK.) and boutique-ing takes loads of dollas. So, when I'm finding myself sapped of fashion energy/aforementioned dollas, I want someone to put me on their back and walk/run me to the Target at 98th and Washington so that I can buy cheap clothes without having to think about it.

And finally, it doesn't help that all the cool fashion bloggers are wearing lace skirts from Target that they got for $4. A FOUR DOLLAR SKIRT! THAT I CANNOT PROCURE IN MERE MINUTES. I feel like an addict with broken legs and no bus passes who just got word that the best drugs are on the other side of town. Boo to the hoo!