In Style

No, no it isn’t. Nothing in here is in style. Well, no, it’s in a style. A horrible, cheap knock-​off style. Gosh, I’m trying not to be nasty. But they weren’t exactly welcoming and nice to me in here. In fact they were pretty rude.
I wandered round looking confused for bit (a little test I do) and the woman just cast her vitriolic scorn on me as if to say, «What are you doing in my shop? Nobody, but nobody, buys anything from here.» Not once, and I was looking confused for a good six minutes or so, was I offered assistance. She was just texting, looking up every now and again to cast a disdainful glance at me. I even said hello when I walked in and smiled cheerily. Nothing. Nada. So I feel completely at liberty to give this review. The clothes look like they came from a market stall that wasn’t good enough to get a stall on the worst market. So rude, and so rubbish.

I doubt that In Style’s name is intended to be ironic, but I somehow can’t imagine that anything this small shop sells has ever been, or ever will be, remotely in style. If you’ve ever observed old ladies and wondered where they get their wardrobe of shapeless, pastel-​coloured cardigans and shabby raincoats from, this is probably the place.
The shop has two main sections. The first is exclusively pensioner garb, while the other is clearly attempting to corner the ‘youth’ market, with a a selection of astoundingly tacky womenswear, things like neon lycra boob tubes and vest tops with crude slogans. This is the sort of stuff that your granny might buy you for Christmas, in the naïve belief that she was getting you something ‘trendy’. I somehow quite enjoyed my visit here, as the clothes were bad enough to be actively funny, but unless I suddenly go blind, don’t think I’ll actually buying anything from this shop anytime soon.