Into the changing room.

I follow behind Jerome slowly as I feel out of breath just walking to the changing rooms. What should be a quick walk, feels like a marathon as I can sense the female workers busy putting clothes on the shelves, groups of teenagers giggling and holding out clothes they may wear for a party later today.

Just next to the changing room are rows of benches, for the people waiting about. I spot a blue haired teenager with brown eyes looking down at her phone. Her hair is messy like she's in a rush of some sorts and her face looks absolutely bored for the day. "Guess her day may get more funny later today." Jerome whispered gently slapping my back. We both subtly enter the changing room by opening the white wooden door, before closing it. I guess I am lucky she seems so enamored to her phone, that she does not realise two men just entered a Victoria Secret changing room.

As I enter, I can't help but think how the lighting is... warm. Pinkish, almost like Instagram filter lighting. It doesn’t feel like any changing room I’ve ever been in. There's no harsh fluorescent glare, no cold mirror waiting to remind me I skipped the gym last week. Instead, everything glows a little. The mirror in front of me has a rose-gold frame, the kind you'd expect around a vanity table, not in a fitting room.

I shift awkwardly on my feet. The floor is carpeted, plush under my shoes. There’s a small cushioned bench in the corner—velvet, I think—and a few hangers with lingerie pieces draped neatly over them. Lace, silk, mesh... I don’t even know the right words. All of it looks impossibly delicate, like if I touched it too roughly it’d vanish into dust.