Overly exerting myself in a shopping mall has become a weekly routine. Two to three times a week I enter the commercial wonderland that is the three-story epicentre of commercialism, and I loiter on a well-cushioned bench.

One of these times it was pointed out to me that there was a new contender in town for the young-and-urban market. Tristan dropped America hard, and the newly emerged Tristan held a new logo and branding (the logo is supposed to be half woman half man with hands held up). To my utter surprise, I observed people walking into the store with determination. And a few walking through it to cut corners to the very fragrant Abercrombie store.

My confession of the day: I’ve never actually gone within 10 feet of a Tristan and America, but I’m almost tempted to now. From afar I can glimpse the muted colours and professional wear. I can sense the fabrics made of stuffy elderly lady favourites. Why can’t I muster the courage to go in?

I thought it was a men’s store. Now, despite my well-closeted affection for menswear when I was in elementary school, I dare not cross the lines of gender-segmented dressing.

Tristan’s new format has issued me a pass to foray into this new world of professional clothing.

> image courtesy of www.tristan-america.com