Lululemon Bag, Don't Preach

When a lululemon athletica opened on College Avenue, I judiciously planned to avoid it. Because, frankly, I don't approve. Three-packs of wifebeaters from SuperLongs make fine workout wear. But before long, I caved. Snuck in and bought the $80 Boogie Pant.

It turned out to be a sound investment. When my pain is bad, demand rises for pants that won't pinch but won't make me hate myself either. (That would be in contrast with jeans on the first hand and sweats on the second.) The so-called Boogie Pant is cute, too: superb butt containment.

The problem is the bag. The store supplies, with purchase, a real bag--something you can bring to the gym to match your new clothes and give them free advertising. I couldn't chuck such a sensible bag.




Which means I must encounter this bag daily--and face a barrage of unsolicited lululemon advice. Do one thing a day that scares you, the bag challenges when I wake up in a grim mood. Stress is related to 99% of all illness, the bag chides when my back is fucked the fuck up, causing my stress level to skyrocket. Friends are more important than money, the bag thoughtfully reminds me, and I suddenly feel lacking in both.

Who authorized this dispensation of life lessons from an athletic wear bag? One that was thrust upon me, that I didn't even have the free will to choose to acquire? And who is writing these gems? Do they employ a wisdom board, full of gurus and health experts? Or is it just some schmuck in corporate who thinks I should visualize my "eventual demise" and not trust that a pension will carry me through old age?

lululemon: The world is changing at such a rapid rate that waiting to implement changes will leave you two steps behind. DO IT NOW, DO IT NOW, DO IT NOW!

Cleb: AAAaaaaahhhh!!!

Tweet