Attn: Hollister Creative Executives
Re: Being Ridiculous

Dear Hollister,

We are sick of you. We are sick of shitty cologne and surfboards and playing on the beach and jeeps with no doors and people that look like Zach Morris who take off their shirts too much. We are sick of our newly purchased clothing items smelling like your store. We are sick of having to trade a quick browse in a shop for being engulfed in the unmistakable stench of college, and we are certainly sick of shopping in the goddamn dark. We do not want to be a part of your lifestyle. We do not want to look like thousands of other people, just in a different color. We are sick of your lies. Your first store opened in Columbus, Ohio. Nothing says Huntington Beach, California quite like the state of Ohio. When I think sunny beaches, skimpy bikinis, and Paris Hilton nip-slips, the first place that always pops into my mind is Columbus, O-fucking-hio. The insanity ends now.

Why the hell would I purchase a piece of clothing that already smells like the Italian National Soccer team has worn it out for a night on the town? Is this the best that your marketing team could come up with? "Yeah, I think we should have our employees douse our merchandise in cologne at the beginning and end of each shift. I mean, it's the right thing to do." Tremendous move, fellas. Brilliant. Now not only are we overpaying for our clothes, we're also footing the dry cleaning bill to get that $45 golf shirt smelling more like our own and less like a Hummer full of frat bros. On top of this, by merely coming within 25 feet of the store, we are agreeing to spend the rest of the day radiating a thick fog of Hollister stench; one that will take 6 showers and an exorcism to wash off of our tainted skin. Furthermore, due to your aggressive franchising strategies, you're also rolling the dice with having your store being located in the vicinity of a food court. God help us all. It says something when you'd rather smell like the inner depths of the food court than have to reek of Huntington Beach, California.

Since when did companies stop selling products and start selling "lifestyles"? When you pull that Hollister T-shirt over your head, you're not just covering your torso with material, you're putting on a way of life, and that's just how Hollister likes it...
"I am wearing a Hollister t-shirt. I have blonde highlights in my hair but you can't see them underneath my white baseball cap turned backwards. I am probably wearing flip-flops. I like to take risks and surf. I am moments away from taking this new shirt off because I didn't do 1000 crunches this morning to hide these thunder-abs under a sheath of cotton. I have guns and pipes and pythons without any interest in weapons or plumbing or reptiles. I excel at beer pong and keg stands and flip cup. I need my messages instant, my noodles instant, and my tans instant. I need everything this second or I'm gonna throw my Nalgene bottle at you. I demand respect and pussy. I'm Hollister, motherfucker."

FUCK. THAT. When bad pop culture predicted the future to be filled with people dressed in matching shiny silver jumpsuits, they weren't that far off; they just forgot to emblaze "HCO" across the chest. The only thing that distinguishes you from a fellow Hollister wearer is the fact that your golf shirt is teal and his is Easter egg yellow. Why launch an "American Lifestyle" clothing brand without designing more than three shirt styles? I must be confused. I think your website is supposed to say "USSR Circa 1986 Lifestyle Clothing Brand". I understand that if you factor in color choices, plus the difference between "Hollister" or "HCO" being scrawled across the chest, essentially thousands of options are available. However, the fact still remains that you're only a few letters and one shade of color away from being falsely accused in a frat house murder.

Long gone are the days when we all wondered what it was like for Ray Charles to go shopping for clothes. Hollister, being the cagey marketing wizards that they are, saw this need and filled it fast. Why in the mother-loving world would I want to shop for my clothes in a store with lighting barely better than the Bat Cave? How are we to know if that sweet shirt is soft pink or salmon? What if I want to count how many fake rips are in my jeans? Why do you dress up your female employees in short skirts and tight shorts if it's too dark to adequately ogle them and have you considered how many employee rapes go down in that dark corner by the hoodies? A lot. At least go all the way with it. This is America, the land where absolutely nobody half asses it...not even the President. Follow suit and take this concept to the next level. Just have customers hand you crisp hundred dollar bills then grab a random item out of a massive bin in the stockroom and blast it down a chute in the back alley where the happy patron awaits. This way, instead of being frustrated and embarrassed, they can be excited, then bewildered, and finally disappointed. Hey at least it's interesting. Honestly, how much can fluorescent lights cost? Maybe it's that you feel light bulbs are overpriced and spending way more money than needed on an item of necessity is unjustifiable. You know what? We feel the exact same way...where's Old Navy again?

Signed,

Everyone

2. Being forced into a police lineup is a fun way to meet new friends.

3. There is a country out there somewhere producing men with accents like they have received a tracheotomy from a blind carpenter.

4. Wind is strong enough to blow Gabriel Byrne's hair into a Beatles mop cut, but not strong enough to change the course of a flicked cigarette butt.

5. Stephen Baldwin is, in fact, capable of not stripping a film of all of its credibility.

6. Murdering your wife and kids instantly garners you legendary status within both the criminal underworld and law enforcement communities.

7. Drug deals are best done on highly elaborate and explosive watercrafts.

8. Upon joining the FBI, you are immediately transported to a time when smoking a cigar in an intensive care unit is the right thing to do.

9. Kevin Spacey looks stunning in a pin-striped suit and fedora.

10. You can fool a customs agent using only a coffee mug and the resolve to keep your hand contorted for 45 minutes.

11. Criminals are able to urinate with the precision of a table saw.

On the heels of everyone getting an intimate glimpse into the personal life of on-again off-again MLB pitcher Roger Clemens, it is time to take a closer look into the events that have led the Rocket to this disaster...

March 1983: Clemens chooses the #21 as a reminder to himself of the maximum age limit for girls he will sleep with.

May 1984: Celebrates MLB debut alone at a Boston-area Chuck-E-Cheese.

Fall 1986: Publicly declares his switch from "thrower" to "pitcher" and admits that the change has nothing at all to do with baseball.

August 1991: Clemens spends the entirety of his salary for that year on gifts for various "nephews" scattered across North America and parts of Cancun, Mexico.

1993-1996: Pitching production dips coinciding with an infidelity production surge.

July 1997: Teammate and fellow cheater Ed Sprague walks in on the Rocket doing steriods off the small of Brian Mcnamee's back.

Winter 1998: Defeats pro golfer John Daly in an arm wrestling match earning himself the right to sleep with Daly's then-wife as set out in the provisions of Redneck law.

June 2000: Becomes the first MLB player to ever be part of 3 grand slams in a single day after giving one up to Mike Piazza, having sweaty sex with a fat girl, and then capping off the night at a Denny's restaurant.

Spring 2003: Although never aired, Clemens submits his own cut of the Armour Hot Dog commercials consisting only of him, a 12-pack of frozen Armours, and the whole Dallas Cowboys Cheerleading team.

September 2003: Retires from cheating on his wife and walks away from an impressive 20 year career of being unfaithful.

January 2004: Makes the decision to return to cheating on his wife as long as it allows him to be closer to his family.