Ultra-fast Fashion Is Eating the World Rachel Monroe
This article was published online on February 6, 2021.
Last February, on a sunny afternoon in West Hollywood, two girls with precise eye makeup paused on Melrose Avenue and peered in the windows of a building whose interior was painted a bright, happy pink. Two pink, winged unicorns flanked racks of clothes: ribbed crop tops, snakeskin-print pants, white sleeveless bodysuits. One of the girls tugged on the door, then frowned. It was locked, which was weird. She tugged again. Inside, a broad-chested security guard regarded them impassively from behind a pink security desk.
Erin Cullison, the U.S. public-relations rep for PrettyLittleThing, a fast-fashion brand founded in 2012, watched the girls give up and walk away. She sighed. Although the West Hollywood showroom closely resembles a store, it is not, in fact, a store. It is not open to the public; the clothes on the racks don’t have price tags. “People try
Ultra-fast Fashion Is Eating the World Rachel Monroe
This article was published online on February 6, 2021.
Last February, on a sunny afternoon in West Hollywood, two girls with precise eye makeup paused on Melrose Avenue and peered in the windows of a building whose interior was painted a bright, happy pink. Two pink, winged unicorns flanked racks of clothes: ribbed crop tops, snakeskin-print pants, white sleeveless bodysuits. One of the girls tugged on the door, then frowned. It was locked, which was weird. She tugged again. Inside, a broad-chested security guard regarded them impassively from behind a pink security desk.
Erin Cullison, the U.S. public-relations rep for PrettyLittleThing, a fast-fashion brand founded in 2012, watched the girls give up and walk away. She sighed. Although the West Hollywood showroom closely resembles a store, it is not, in fact, a store. It is not open to the public; the clothes on the racks don’t have price tags. “People try
By Gregory Thomas
1.
The email about a man who drowned while boating on Lake Tahoe arrived in August, when Keith Cormican was in the Canadian Rockies searching for another drowning victim. A young man was missing somewhere in Alberta’s Lake Minnewanka, where the glacial water is so cold that swimmers wear wetsuits even in summer.
By now, Cormican is used to pleading messages from desperate strangers. Over the past seven years, he has become one of the nation’s top specialists in a gruesome yet critical task: locating and retrieving lost bodies in lakes or rivers.
A stout Midwesterner with a round face, gray mustache and glacier blue eyes, Cormican is not part of a government agency no badge, no uniform. The 61-year-old makes a living running a scuba diving shop in Wisconsin. But he has devoted much of the past 25 years to his macabre avocation, towing his custom-outfitted search boat around the country and spending long days motoring across lakes in pursuit of those no