And the hits keep coming. Jeffries has cracked one of the toughest codes in retailing: how to sell consistently to the teenage and college set, that maddeningly fickle bunch with tremendous disposable income. His mantra: keep an obsessive focus on the 18- to 22-year-old customers, and reflect and shape their latest tastes with imagery of buff models having too good a time. A&F also draws in both younger and older shoppers yearning to turn the clock forward or back. “When you’re young, you’re gold” is the tag line for the chain’s latest ads. When Jeffries took over the company in 1992, it was losing $6 million a year on $85 million in sales. Last year it earned $102 million on revenue of $815 million. It’s grown from a few dozen stores to more than 200 (mostly in malls), adding about 50 new ones per year. Its stock has more than quadrupled in the three years since it was spun off from The Limited. It launched a second line of stores, abercrombie, for kids 7 to 14, last year, and a third concept is on the way. The company has so permeated pop culture that it is featured in a popular rap song, “Summer Girls,” by the Lyte Funkie Ones: “When I met you I said my name was Rich;/You look like a girl from Abercrombie & Fitch.” In many schools it’s the uniform. “It’s cool to be wearing it,” said 15-year-old Adam Greenfeld while shopping in A&F’s Manhattan store. “It’s the name.”
The cool is new, the name is not. Founded in 1892 as an eclectic sporting-goods store for the well-heeled, Abercrombie & Fitch through the decades outfitted brand-name customers like Teddy Roosevelt and Ernest Hemingway. The tweedy image frayed, and The Limited bought the chain for a bargain-basement $47 million in 1988. In 1992 Leslie Wexner, The Limited’s chairman, recruited Jeffries, who had cut his ultrawhite teeth at Federated Department Stores. He sketched out its strategy: consumers wanted quality, classic American style and a young look.
Simple plan, tough to execute. The company controls every detail down to the carefully calibrated stone-wash and enzyme treatments to make everything from hats to cargo pants look “vintage.” The music tapes in the store, compiled with input from Jeffries and others–current selections include “Soul Education” by Jamiroquai and “Mambo No. 5” by Lou Bega–are set in each location at exactly the same volume (too loud for most parents, almost loud enough for most kids). About 30 staffers visit a college campus each month to chat up students about what they play, wear, listen to and read. During one visit last year, they saw some nylon wind pants, and A&F quickly worked up its own version. Store managers visit nearby fraternities and sororities to recruit “brand representatives,” who work as few as five hours a week. Selling skills are not required–the job is to look good wearing Abercrombie and have fun. The clothes–standard preppy fare like wool sweaters, khakis and button-down shirts, but also a lot of rugged and military styles–seem to sell themselves. Abercrombie fans tout the clothing’s quality, look and feel. Jeff Showalter, a 17-year-old from Reading, Pa., recently discovered Abercrombie and is smitten. “I already told my mom we’re coming here for my birthday,” he says.
There is no more important vehicle for conveying that image than Abercrombie’s controversial quarterly magazine-catalog, or magalog, as it’s called. It’s stuffed with photos by Weber, best known for his sexy shots for Calvin Klein that portray a world in which all abs are washboard. The sexual imagery–guys playing with water hoses–is often winkingly obvious. Everyone’s frolicking about in Abercrombie garb or nothing at all. Articles include advice on stuff to bring to college, such as “condoms in ample supply.” A piece entitled “Drinking 101” offers recipes for concoctions like “Sex on the Beach” and “The Crest Shot (four out of five dentists approve).”
Are you smirking right now, or shaking your head in dismay? That’s precisely the point. The magalogs are like the din-level music–the target customer likes it, in part because it’s a bit rebellious. Predictably, many parents see nothing noble in this “aspirational lifestyle,” particularly for middle-school students who love Abercrombie. “It’s like saying sex is OK to 12- and 13-year-olds,” says Lisa Wisel, a mother of three who organized a protest outside the retailer’s Boston store last fall (bad publicity = good publicity). Jeffries waves off the criticism. He’s added cautionary labels to the magalogs, and he notes that kids have easy access to much worse content. Yes, but what about all the messages about casual sex? “It’s within the context of friends, family and caring for one another,” he says. “It’s not promiscuous sex.”
Jeffries has bigger worries. He’s well aware of how quickly hot brands can cool. Remember Guess? Abercrombie plans to keep ahead of the trend line by coming up with six new marketing themes every year. “The whole business is a work in progress,” he says. “I’m totally insecure, constantly scared.” But for now, his face seems remarkably free of worry lines. The only question is whether Abercrombie will age as gracefully as Jeffries.
