The implication of Brandy Melville's One Size Policy

As a junior in high school, I've watched the Brandy Melville craze set in firsthand in my highschool. First it was just a few Nashville sweatshirts and lacy tops here and there. And suddenly, the floodgates broke loose and everyone was wearing Brandy crop tops, mini skirts and oversized sweaters. While this may at first seem like another harmless phenomenon of teenage consumption, I worry about the extreme idolization of the brand by susceptible, teenage girls. Beneath the surface, I’ve noticed Brandy Melville’s “one size fits all” policy feeding into a toxic culture of body shaming and unrealistic beauty standards.

First of all, let’s discuss the elephant in the room: Brandy's "one size" is far from inclusive. From what I’ve noticed, their clothes typically fit a size 0 to 2, and maybe a 4 if you’re lucky. With the average teen fitting in size 6 to 10, Brandy Melville undeniably caters to a skinnier audience. In an ideal world, this exclusive sizing shouldn’t really be a problem; there’s hardly a lack of brands to shop, consumers could just shop somewhere else that accommodates their size. Just like how brands catering to plus sized people exist, Brandy’s limited sizing isn’t an inherent problem, but the online community makes it one. 

During Brandy Melville’s blazing rise to fame, social media has turned “fitting into Brandy” into a new body checking trend. I’ve seen influencers post try-on hauls where the comments would be flooded with people praising her slime, toned “Brandy body.” This is what has turned me off from Brandy: the direct connection of Brandy Melville to the American beauty standard. While being thin has always been praised, the underlying message of having to have Brandy Melville to be considered beautiful rubs me the wrong way. 

Although it’s largely consumers and influencers who have created this toxic, Brandy-centric beauty standard, the brand itself has been complicit in creating this culture. Their Instagram features an endless stream of thin, predominantly white models, indirectly communicating their aesthetic standards to their 3.1 million followers. With their employees also fitting the specific, culture “look” on their Instagram, this definition of beauty has also pervaded my high school. 

I’ll be honest, I also bought into it at first when I saw my friends sporting their news camis and baby tees to school. I remember sneaking off to the flagship store in New York to get my fix—so I too, could claim to be Brandy sized. However, I simply left empty-handed, feeling awful about my body after an unfruitful fitting session. Sure I’ve left other stores feeling dejected after their clothes not fitting right, but walking out of Brandy Melville without a bag felt like I’d failed some sort of test. It felt like I’d slipped through the cracks of being conventionally beautiful when I couldn’t fit into the “one size fits all” option.

For a while after this incident, I was plagued with constant self doubt and image issues—I became obsessed with losing weight so I could finally snag a piece for myself. I told myself that dropping a pound or two would be the solution to my self image issues: I told myself that I needed a Brandy skirt to rebrand myself to be conventionally attractive. 

After a few months, I ultimately did get the Brandy pleat skirt I wanted. But instead of the accomplishment or pride I thought I’d feel, I was overwhelmed with a sense of disgust—towards myself and Brandy Melville—for feeling compelled to comply. I was absolutely ashamed of myself for idolizing and basing my sense of beauty and confidence over a fad brand. Because while cliche, our worth isn’t, and never will be, determined by whether we can fit into a crop top or not. Beauty truly comes in all sizes and shapes—and it’s up to us to act accordingly. So please, wear what makes you feel good—clothes that don’t shame you into losing weight—and comfortable. In conclusion, self-acceptance is the only way forward in a world of forever changing fads and body goals.