An Ode to Claire's
The 1990s called. They want their malls back.
As an older millennial, the mall was a childhood icon, an adolescent staple and the spot to hang on Friday nights. The internet wasn’t at your fingertips, but Mrs. Field’s Cookies and chicken teriyaki samples in the food court were. Stores were cool, not for Instagram, but for the experience. Mega bookstores bookended malls and featured those oversized, comfy chairs just for the sole purpose of letting mall-goers relax for a few minutes—and it was all free! Spencer’s helped me through a questionable goth phase in my life, letting me work through wallet chains, JNCO jeans and brooding emo soundtracks. Sharper Image made me feel like I was living in the future. Yankee Candle made all the scents.
But it was one store at the mall that I never truly appreciated until now. And I’m afraid it might be too late.
The tween mecca Claire’s has been around for nearly seven decades, defining early teen social experiences in malls throughout the United States. Originally a wig store outside of Chicago in the early 1960s, Claire’s shifted to fashion accessories with the rise of American malls and really kicked into gear in the mid-1990s, specializing in on-site piercing and providing cheap, colorful jewelry to free-range mall kids everywhere. Claire’s peaked around 3,500 stores worldwide and claims to have poked more than 110 million ears.
Including mine.
But I’ll get to that later. Fast forward to last week: Claire’s filed bankruptcy and announced the closing of more than 700 locations due to a variety of factors. Stories like this have become commonplace in the shopping industry, but some strike a chord, strumming a familiar note of a time when I started learning independence and freedom. Or as free as a 14-year-old getting dropped off at the mall with $20 and five extra hits of Axe body spray. Original “girlfriends” dragged me to Claire’s, looking for matching rings to celebrate our 2-week anniversary. Our group of friends would loiter outside the store, just hoping for the chance to chat up some girls (spoiler alert: we never had the guts).
And all that is coming to an end. Let’s pour one out for an institution of human development, where mall memories were made on many a weekend night. I never truly appreciated Claire’s, but by some kind of cosmic force, I was able to experience the gift of the store one last time.
The family visited Santa Barbara for the first time a few weeks ago. Classic Southern California vibes meet solid food, boozy courtyards and palm-lined beaches. So, of course, a visitor must hit the highlights…starting with Claire’s. We found the hidden gem tucked in a downtown shopping plaza. My girls, eight and six, had been toying with the idea of piercing their ears for some time, excited about new accessories but nervous for the unknown pain variable. Walking past the store, we felt drawn to the special moment.
Today, here, now. Let’s do this.
I knew this was coming and I was beyond excited. I was also dead-set on going through the process with them. Piercing my ear was always a when, not if (especially given the last name), and this was the perfect excuse to find that rebellious nature long forgotten since my goth days. “Um, yeah,” the Claire’s associate answered after I asked if they pierced adults, too. Major ick and cringe, I knew she was thinking. But no matter, I was here for the embarrassing dad story.
My daughters were excited with the plan, wanting to see the process run through once before making the ultimate decision. I sat in a director’s chair near the storefront window. An older woman passed by on the sidewalk, expressing a confused facial expression. Smiling sheepishly, I heard a faint yell from the back of the store.
“MID-LIFE CRISIS! MID-LIFE CRISIS!”
My wife is a lot of things. One of them is a straight shooter. And as I heard her distinct voice echo through the rows of tie-dyed bangles and bracelets, I questioned the move. Maybe she’s right. What am I doing? Am I going to be the guy that gets a staph infection and a heavy dose of antibiotics for this lame dad stunt?
Yes. Yes, I am.
I picked out my stud, excited at the endless possibilities of designs and styles after the mandatory 8-week initial healing period. My girls watched in anticipation as I posed for what I assumed to be a handheld hole puncher. I felt those not-as-frequent butterflies of a new experience, something far more valued on this side of 40. Meanwhile, my 2-year-old learned eight new words and how to walk backwards since I started this post.
Then BOOM, it was over. I had an earring. I contemplated doubling down with the second ear, but I graciously declined the associate’s offer. Maybe it was my wife shaking her head with disgust in the background, murmuring, “Just please, stop.” My daughters then took turns, each bursting with jubilation as they realized dress-up will be a lot more fun from now on. Tearless and newly-blinged, they ran to the closest mirror and struck their best pose.
I peeked over at my wife, slightly bittersweet for yet another parenting milestone, slightly disturbed over her husband’s antics. But in fairness, these moments with our kids are fleeting. They’ll soon balk at the presence of parents in public. Moreover, these coming-of-age experiences as a young girl generally don’t include dad, so I’ll take it.
I admired my slightly lighter ear in the mirror, amazed at the simplicity of the whole process. Easy, fast and seemingly quite hygienic, Claire’s gave us a neon bright backdrop to an amazing father-daughters moment we’ll never forget. (And no, this guy did not accept any gifts or compensation from Claire’s, as there is clearly not enough to go around.) But I have to call ‘em like I see ‘em. And the brands of our lives naturally intertwine with the stories we’ll tell forever.
Like the time dad pierced his ear at Claire’s.
So from one Pierce to another, I wish thee well in the passage of time, faded purple Claire’s. Just as we bid adieu to the mall—now your local pickleball court—we hope you can withstand another generational jump and keep making memories daughters dads everywhere will never forget. One lobe at a time.