In a move that has sent shockwaves through the nation's adolescent undergarment supply chain, the teen fashion empire 'Slouch & Scowl' has shuttered all fitting rooms across its 47 UK outlets. The reason? A shoplifting epidemic so rampant that store detectives have reportedly been driven to gin, and not the decent stuff either. We're talking supermarket own-brand, the kind that tastes like regret and petrol.
Let us paint you a picture, dear reader. You are a 15-year-old with the moral compass of a pirate and the wardrobe of a disaffected YouTuber. You saunter into Slouch & Scowl, your cargo trousers bulging with empty space and ill intent. You grab a pair of distressed denim, vanish into a changing cubicle, and emerge 90 seconds later looking suspiciously chunkier, your original trousers now in your rucksack. This, apparently, has been happening with the frequency of seagulls at a chip shop. So management has done the only sensible thing: they have made it impossible to try anything on.
'But Biff,' you cry, 'what about the honest teenagers? The ones who just want to know if the jeans make their bum look like a pug's face?' To them, I say: welcome to the future. You will now have to buy your clothes like a Victorian orphan, guessing based on hope and a prayer. If the garment doesn't fit, you can return it, but only after queuing for 45 minutes while a floor manager glares at you as if you've just nicked the Crown Jewels.
This is the logical endpoint of the 'shop until you drop' society, where dropping means dropping a pair of joggers into your backpack. The British Retail Consortium has been wringing its hands like a chorus of anxious grandparents, warning that shoplifting costs the industry £1.9 billion a year. That's enough to buy every MP a solid gold monocle, or to fund the NHS for an afternoon. But instead of tackling the root causes, retailers are simply locking down their stores like fortresses.
We have seen this before. Supermarkets put razor blades on steaks. Boots locks up Lynx Africa like it's pharmaceutical-grade heroin. And now, teenagers can't even try on a crop top without feeling like a suspect. The message is clear: you are all potential criminals until proven otherwise. It's the ultimate indictment of a society that has lost trust in itself.
But let us not forget the true villain of this piece. The shoplifters themselves, yes, but also the system that created them. When was the last time a teenager could afford new clothes on a zero-hours paper round? When fashion became disposable, and trends changed faster than a politician's promise, we created an army of young people who see stealing as a victimless crime. It's the gig economy of larceny.
So what will Slouch & Scowl do next? Install metal detectors at the door? Demand DNA samples before browsing? Perhaps they will simply replace all staff with animatronic mannequins that scream 'THIEF' when you approach. It would be no more absurd than the current state of affairs.
As I write this, I am sipping a G&T in a pub that still trusts me enough to let me use the loo without a loyalty card. But give it time. Soon, we will all be suspects, and the only crime will be being born into a world where even trying on a pair of trousers has become an act of rebellion.
