Hot Take: I Hate Clearance Stores (and Clearance Sections)
I’m not talking about the thrill of the hunt or the smug little brag when someone compliments your outfit and you get to say, “$7. Clearance.” I’m talking about the actual experience of stepping into a clearance store or wandering back to the clearance rack, and honestly, I’d rather walk barefoot through a corn maze made of Legos.
Let me be clear, I will shop a clearance section online all day long. That’s peaceful. Organized. Calming, even. Just me, my laptop, a cozy blanket, and a scrollable grid of deals. But in person? In person, it’s a war zone. Full-blown sensory overload. Zero chill. Maximum cortisol.
Every time I walk into one of those stores—or even glance at that sad, chaotic corner where the clearance rack lives—I feel my heart rate spike. My blood pressure rises. My vision blurs. I have a hot flash like I’m going through menopause. It’s like the aisles are closing in. My hands get sweaty. I suddenly forget what I even came for. It’s not “fun shopping,” it’s an endurance test. They give you mad anxiety. Capital-A Anxiety. Retail-induced, panic-simmering, why-am-I-here anxiety.
The aisles? Cramped. Crooked. Stuff spilling onto the floor.
The lighting? Aggressively fluorescent, somehow both too dim and too harsh.
The carts? Too small for anything useful but still big enough to block every path.
The smell? A mysterious, headache-inducing combo of dust, expired body spray, and sadness.
I’m not above a good deal. I just refuse to emotionally unravel for the chance to save $4 on a cracked mug or a half-priced Kylie lip kit that was popular before she admitted hers were fake.
That reminds me—don’t even get me started on the beauty section.
I’m gonna need a Xanax just to survive the makeup aisle in TJ Maxx.
(Just to be clear, I have never, nor do I have any plans to do drugs. Is Xanax a drug? IDK. Innocent.)
Anyway... no, I do not want this expired “name brand” serum with a half-ripped box, no lid, and questionable smudges on the bottle. I’d rather wash my face with dog shampoo and call it a night.
And the clearance rack inside regular stores? Not much better. The whole place will be beautifully curated, color-coordinated, aesthetically soothing… until you reach the clearance zone. Then it’s like entering a fashion tornado. Hangers everywhere. Clothes half-on, half-off. Tangled piles of forgotten dreams and bad trends. It looks like a raccoon had a breakdown in a JCPenney.
(You wouldn’t catch me dead shopping there. And it’s not just the disorganization.)
Some people love it. They thrive in the chaos. They dig, they scavenge, they “find gems.” I support that journey. But me? I’m simply not built for it. It feels like hoarders anonymous meets a bargain-bin junk drawer, and I do not want to be spiritually tested by a $3 scratchy sweater that smells like storage.
So if you ever see me at Marshalls, TJ Maxx, or elbow-deep in the clearance bin at Target… just know I needed a reminder that at least my life is more organized than a billion-dollar corporation.
xo,
Kate
