In the early 2000s, a trip to Abercrombie & Fitch was a distinctive experience. Whether it was the obnoxious music blasting through the speakers, the plethora of shirts adorned with the “A&F” logo or the scent of their signature fragrance "Fierce" pumped through the vents — walking through Abercrombie at the local mall was a core memory for many adolescents. 

But behind the allure that attracted so many customers was a brand strategy based in elitism, racism and discrimination based on looks. 

All the secrets of this brand were highlighted in the new Netflix documentary "White Hot: The Rise & Fall of Abercrombie & Fitch." The film, which was released back in April 2022 and directed by Alison Klayman, interviews former Abercrombie employees, models, recruiters and executives to discuss how the preppiness of Ralph Lauren and the attractiveness of Calvin Klein created the perfect retail combination for this brand. 

With posters and shopping bags covered in shirtless male models, celebrities wearing their clothes and the bonus of affordable prices, the store's popularity soared. 

"If you weren't wearing Abercrombie, you weren't cool," one of the former models said during their documentary interview.

Another former merchandiser for the brand said, in the height of the franchise’s glory, someone could "write 'Abercrombie & Fitch’ with dog sh*t, put it on a baseball hat and sell it for 40 bucks."

In 88 minutes, the film stirs up nostalgia for previous consumers of the brand while bringing in new revelations that the typical customer may not have been aware of. The documentary firmly attacks former Abercrombie CEO Mike Jeffries, who — according to one former employee — established a clear equation for success after taking over the company in 1992: “Heritage + Elitism + Sex + Exclusivity = (Money),” the employee said.

With Jeffries' specific vision of being an All-American brand, Abercrombie received many accusations for discriminating certain employees who did not look like the models on the walls. 

In 2003, a group of former employees filed a lawsuit against the brand, stating Black, Hispanic and Asian employees received fewer hours than their white colleagues or were terminated indefinitely based on perceived physical attractiveness. 

Abercrombie settled the suit in 2004 and was later taken to the Supreme Court when a Muslim woman claimed Abercrombie refused to hire her due to her headscarf. The court ruled 8-1 in her favor. 

Not only did lawsuits tamper with the fame of the brand, but many missteps taken by people in its own inner circle caused damage to the reputation. Bruce Weber, the photographer for all of the Abercrombie photoshoots, was accused of sexually harrassing models on set. 

The design team for the apparel was also criticized for creating shirts that were racially discriminatory to the Asian-American community. In one instance back in 2002, the brand released a graphic T-shirt featuring a fictional laundromat service with caricatured, cartoon Asian figures and the words, "Two Wongs Can Make it White."

Jeffries sat down to do an interview with a news website Salon in 2006, where he blatantly admitted that Abercrombie was not a store for just anyone.

"We go after the attractive All-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends," Jeffries said in the interview. "A lot of people don't belong (in our clothes), and they can't belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."

Due to an overload of scrutiny continuing to pile up, Jeffries decided to step down as CEO of Abercrombie in 2014 when his quotes from the interview gained attention. Countless petitions against the brand's exclusivity acquired thousands of signatures and overall sales began to decrease.

After selecting Fran Horowitz as their new CEO in 2017, the brand went through an extreme makeover to become a place of diversity and inclusivity. With a wide-range of sizes, models, well-lit stores with tamer music and a welcoming social media presence, Horowitz was able to make Abercrombie a clothing store where anyone can be a cool kid — not just the shirtless models with six-packs.

Abercrombie also released a statement shortly before the release of the documentary, stating on Instagram that the "#AbercrombieToday" is much different than its predecessor.

“While the problematic elements of (Abercrombie’s former) era have already been subject to wide and valid criticism over the years, we want to be clear that they are actions, behaviors and decisions that would not be permitted or tolerated at the company now,” Horowitz wrote in the caption of the March 31 post.

With the film showcasing eye-catching graphics, early 2000s music and a wide range of interview sources, the audience is bound to be enthralled the whole time. Even if it's just because of the absurdity of the words that leave Jeffries' mouth, it is worth watching in its entirety. 

For me, I was already intrigued before watching this film, as I grew up a hardcore Abercrombie & Fitch fanatic. 

Every year for Christmas, I would ask for new Abercrombie jeans. After a haul at the store, I would never want to wash my new clothes so the smell of the fragrance would not fade away. 

Not to mention I religiously wore my Abercrombie floral skirt and navy “A&F” T-shirt to every Picture Day at school — I have the photos to prove it.

Needless to say, this film gave a little more insight on the darkness surrounding the company compared to the idolizing nature eight-year-old Megan adorned it with. But Horowitz’ diversification of the brand rekindled my obsession over a decade later; slowly but surely, I’m reintroducing Abercrombie back into my wardrobe.

Toward the end of the film, Robin Givhan, a senior critic at large for The Washington Post, was asked about the cultural importance of the drama surrounding Abercrombie. While Givhan believes exclusionary policies in the workplace rooted in race, body type and other physical factors are still prominent across the country, she emphasized Abercrombie's transformation is symbolic of gradual improvement to move away from such practices.

"The story of Abercrombie was essentially an incredible indictment of where our culture was 10 years ago," Givhan said. "It was a culture that defined beauty as thin, white and young and was a culture that was very happy to exclude people."