Walk into any mall in 2005. You didn't even have to look for the store; you could smell it from three corridors away. That heavy, cloying scent of Fierce cologne was the siren song for a generation. But the real draw? The shirtless men standing at the entrance. They were the "Abercrombie guys," living statues of a very specific, very exclusionary American dream. For years, the Netflix documentary White Hot: The Rise & Fall of Abercrombie & Fitch and various investigative reports have pulled back the curtain on what was actually happening behind those shuttered louvers. It wasn't just about selling cargo shorts. It was about a calculated, often cruel social hierarchy.
The brand didn't just want your money. They wanted your "cool."
Mike Jeffries, the CEO who took over in the 90s, was blunt about it. He famously told Salon in 2006 that A&F was for the "cool kids." If you weren't thin, white, and athletic, the message was clear: you didn't belong. This wasn't some accidental byproduct of marketing; it was the blueprint. The Abercrombie guys: the dark side of cool isn't just a catchy phrase for a documentary title; it represents a decade of systemic discrimination disguised as high-school aspiration.
The Scouting Manual and the "Look" Policy
How did they find these guys? They didn't just hire people. They "scouted" them. Former employees have shared stories about managers being sent to frat houses or college campuses to find "natural" talent. But "natural" was a loaded term. Internal documents, which eventually became public during various class-action lawsuits, revealed a strict hierarchy of attractiveness.
There was a literal "Look Policy."
It dictated everything. Hair length. The way a shirt was tucked. Whether a guy could have facial hair (usually a hard no). If you were a "Model"—the internal term for a floor staff member—you were basically there to be a human prop. If you didn't fit the vibe perfectly on any given day, you might be sent to the stockroom to fold clothes in the dark. It sounds like a movie plot, but for thousands of young workers, it was a daily reality.
I remember talking to a former staffer who said he was told his "energy" was too low, which was basically code for "you aren't looking hot enough today." Imagine being nineteen and having your value as a human being quantified by how well you can lean against a cash wrap while wearing a $70 polo.
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The Bruce Weber Effect: Art or Exploitation?
You can't talk about the Abercrombie guys without talking about Bruce Weber. He was the photographer who defined the brand's visual language. His photos were iconic: black and white, outdoorsy, homoerotic but "bro-y," and almost entirely white. These images weren't just ads; they were the "A&F Quarterly," a magalog that was basically softcore porn sold in a clothing store.
But the dark side went deeper than just provocative marketing.
Over the years, numerous male models came forward with allegations against Weber. In lawsuits filed by models like Bobby Roache and Jason Boyce, stories emerged of "casting sessions" that allegedly involved unnecessary touching and coercive behavior under the guise of "artistic breathing exercises." Weber has denied these claims, but the sheer volume of stories shifted the narrative of the "Abercrombie guy" from one of envy to one of potential victimhood. These young men, often desperate for a break in the industry, were placed in a power dynamic that felt impossible to navigate.
It makes those sun-drenched photos of guys wrestling in the grass look a lot different in hindsight.
When Inclusion Was Considered "Off Brand"
For a long time, the brand’s refusal to carry XL or XXL sizes for women was a point of pride for Jeffries. He didn't want "fat people" in his clothes. Period. This exclusionary mindset trickled down into the hiring of the Abercrombie guys and girls.
In 2003, a massive class-action lawsuit was filed against A&F (Gonzalez v. Abercrombie & Fitch). The plaintiffs—9 Hispanic, Asian American, and African American applicants and employees—alleged that the company steered minority applicants to the back of the store and reserved the "Model" positions for white employees. They eventually settled for $40 million.
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Did things change immediately? Not really.
The company was forced to hire a diversity VP, but the "look" remained remarkably consistent for another decade. It’s wild to think about now, but back then, this blatant "exclusionary cool" was exactly what made the brand worth billions. We live in a world now where brands jump over each other to show diversity. In the early 2000s, Abercrombie was doing the exact opposite, and the stock market loved them for it.
The Mental Toll of Being "The Guy"
We often forget that the people at the center of this—the actual Abercrombie guys—were kids. They were 18, 19, 20 years old. Being told you are the pinnacle of human beauty is a trip. Being told your value ends when you get a blemish or gain five pounds is a nightmare.
The "dark side" wasn't just the corporate policy; it was the psychological impact.
- Body Dysmorphia: The pressure to maintain a "six-pack" year-round was intense.
- Identity Erasure: You weren't an employee; you were a "Model." Your personality didn't matter.
- The Expiration Date: Knowing that by 24, you were "too old" for the brand's aesthetic.
It created a culture of extreme vanity and insecurity. One former model mentioned in an interview that he felt like a "piece of meat" that was eventually tossed out when the next season's crop of freshmen arrived.
Why the "Cool" Finally Died
The downfall wasn't one single event. It was a slow rot. Fast fashion came along—H&M and Zara started moving faster than A&F's 12-month design cycle. But more importantly, the culture shifted. Millennials and Gen Z started valuing authenticity over "perfection." The idea of a 60-year-old CEO telling teenagers they weren't cool enough to wear his t-shirts started to feel... well, creepy.
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Jeffries left in 2014. Since then, the brand has undergone a massive rebranding under Fran Horowitz. They actually have a diverse range of models now. They sell clothes for different body types. They don't spray Fierce into the air vents anymore.
But for those of us who grew up in the shadow of the Abercrombie guys: the dark side of cool, it’s hard to look at those moose logos without remembering the elitism they once represented.
Honestly, the lesson here isn't just about a clothing brand. It's about how easily we can be manipulated into wanting to belong to a "club" that doesn't actually like us. We spent our allowance money to buy into a hierarchy that was designed to keep most of us at the bottom.
How to Spot "New" Exclusionary Marketing
The Abercrombie era might be over, but the "dark side of cool" just changes its outfit. Today, it’s often found in "invite-only" apps or luxury brands that use influencer "gatekeeping" to create artificial scarcity. If you want to avoid falling into the same trap, here are a few things to watch for:
- The "Vibe" Over the Value: If a brand spends more time selling a lifestyle or a "type" of person than the quality of their product, be skeptical.
- Lack of Accessibility: If a brand goes out of its way to make it difficult for "average" people to buy or wear their stuff, they are using the Jeffries playbook.
- The Faceless Aesthetic: Brands that treat their "ambassadors" like interchangeable parts rather than individuals are usually hiding a toxic internal culture.
The best way to move forward is to support brands that focus on radical transparency. Look for companies that publish their labor practices, use diverse casting without it feeling like a "token" gesture, and don't rely on shaming their customers to drive sales. The era of the shirtless gatekeeper is over, and honestly, we’re all better off for it.