The new Amazon Style store is the behemoth retailer’s first foyer into brick-and-mortar clothing stores.
It looks like a cross between Urban Outfitters and an Apple store.
When I entered the store, I was greeted by cheerful employees.
It was like if Trader Joe’s employees were selling you clothes.
The gist is this: There are no sizes available on the showroom floor.
If you want to try something on, instead of the usual act of schlepping through sizes to find yours, you just scan the QR code attached to the clothing item.
When you scan the code, an Amazon link pops up on your phone and takes you to the online store.
You simply add your size to a dressing room, then the app alerts you when the room is ready for you.
I went to the store with my 18-year-old sister (it’s probably not a coincidence that this is the first story she’s joined me on).
A few times, she turned to me and said: “I feel like we’re in the future.”
We were both expecting the store to be full of fast-casual Amazon-brand clothing, but that wasn’t our experience at all.
There were bright, cheerful displays advertising different clothing vibes.
“CASUAL DRESSES,” read one sign.
“Hi, that’s for me,” my Gen Z sister said. She promptly walked away from me and toward it.
As we wove our way through the women’s section, I was surprised at just how many different styles of clothes were available.
There were dresses, jackets, jeans, and shirts.
In the middle of the women’s section was a large display advertising “influencer looks.”
The displays had specific QR codes that would take you to that influencer’s favorite Amazon-supplied clothing.
I didn’t know who the influencers were. Neither did my sister, but their choices were cute.
The whole experience was wildly sleek. I decided to try something on to get the full vibe.
I scanned the QR code attached to the jean jacket I wanted to try on and chose my size.
The Amazon app asked me if I needed an accessible fitting room and what gender clothing I most wore.
Then, it informed me that there would be more items waiting in the fitting room that they thought I would like.
(Who is “they”? The algorithm is powerful.)
I locked my phone and kept browsing, but I wasn’t totally sure how I’d know when the fitting room was ready.
Did I need to go up to talk to an attendant? That felt unlikely.
Did I need to keep checking the app? I wasn’t sure.
I checked every few minutes, until 10 minutes later, it said my fitting room was ready.
I beckoned my sister, and we went upstairs to the second set of fitting rooms.
It was decorated almost like an Anthropologie store, with different-sized mirrors, magazines, and botanic wallpaper.
I walked to the room assigned to me and pressed “unlock your room.”
That’s the only moment when the whole sleek experience got a little clumsy.
There isn’t very good cellular service in the Glendale Galleria, and my phone was struggling to connect enough to unlock the door.
After waiting a minute or two, my sister suggested I look for an Amazon WiFi connection, which I did.
It required joining an “unprotected” WiFi network, but it solved the problem quickly. The door was soon unlocked.
The fitting room was spacious and had a screen welcoming me in. “GET STARTED!” urged the touchscreen.
On the left side of the room was a rack with the jacket I’d chosen (and three others the algorithm thought I might like).
Through the touchscreen, I chose another sweatshirt and requested it to be delivered to my fitting room.
Then things got really futuristic — or maybe my sister and I were just easily impressed.
On the far side of the fitting room was a closet.
When you order something else to try on while you’re already in the fitting room, an employee delivers the article of clothing through the other door of the closet.