The perfect victim

On being too soft in a world that only sells

I had just finished shopping and was swinging my big tote bag from one of the stores when a salesperson called out.

“Did you just purchase from XXX store?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Come here. We offer a free facial to customers of XXX.”

As a skincare lover, I strolled over without a thought. I glanced at the coupon. Eight steps. Free. Before I realized it, I was walking toward the facial area, already deep in conversation.

He asked about my skincare routine. My concerns. Then he introduced me to three products: a peeling mask, a clay mask, and an exfoliating scrub.

Each one went on my palm first, then my face. He applied them while asking me questions. They were rapid-fire, intimate, and relentless. The kind of questions you want to ask, and feel compelled to ask, at a speed dating event where you’re racing the clock to find your match.

What’s your name? How old are you? Where do you live? Where are you from? What do you do for work? What does your family do? Do you like what you do? What do you really do? What skincare brands do you use? Do you party with your friends?

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I felt like one of those harmless-looking girls who get flagged down precisely because they look harmless. I also have a hard time saying no. And lying. I always think they can read my mind when I’m lying. What if I run into him again and he realizes I lied?

At the end of the facial, he brought out the two products I had liked most. The price made my jaw drop. I watched his friendliness crack as he started citing deals: a free product, an employee discount, and a special price just for today.

After the fourth no, he disappeared into the backroom to return the items.

I bolted, embarrassed for having wasted his time. For knowing what I was getting myself into and letting it go on for too long. A feeling I was all too familiar with.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

It was déjà vu from when I lived in Taiwan: the same tactic (starting a conversation from the ice skating bag I was carrying), same product category (luxury skincare), and spending way too much time in sweet conversation with a man I found hard to exit.

This man was really intent on learning how long I’d been skating, how much I liked it, where I was from, and whether we could go skating together sometime — even after I’d rejected his sales pitch and was already out the door. Was he just a really good salesman, or a man comfortable crossing the boundary between business and personal life?

I mean, at what point does persuasion turn into coercion, and where the heck was my agency in all of this?

I am good at saying no when the question is posed. I can rip the bandaid off, easy. What I’m bad at is leaving before the question is posed, when we’re both pretending the conversation is about my really interesting life, when really it’s all about that commission. How dare I say no after I wasted his time for the last 40 minutes? Shame on me!

I remember another time when I joined a gym, the trainers would approach me under the guise of friendliness and avoid my eyes as soon as I made it clear the third time that I wasn’t going to hire them now or ever. I don’t blame them. But I also remember that yoga studio that was independently run by women for women (mostly). No sales pitch, join as you wish, come as you go. I loved that place.

It makes me wonder if high-pressure sales tactics are inevitable byproducts of capitalistic growth. The stakes are higher, the script is there, and we all know that growth is good and the opposite is alarm bells. After all, those dictating the sales pitch sit behind computers, chasing KPIs and the approval of higher management.

My weakness is empathizing with “they’re just doing their job.” I’ve been behind that desk too. But as soft as I may appear, I know there’s nothing worse than having buyer’s remorse for wanting to please a man who was just doing his job.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Looking even further back, I feel like this pattern has consistently dominated my life.

When a religious cult approached me in college and kept me talking for half an hour while filling out a “questionnaire” for university. I gave them my name, age, phone number, major, email, religious affiliation, etc. They called and texted me to get me to attend one of their meetings. I almost did, but then I started dating a boy and promptly ghosted them.

When I was in a relationship with aforementioned boy and he was more experienced and I was very much not, he was somehow able to coax me into doing things he knew I was not okay with and somehow convince me it was okay in the moment because he “did it like that with his ex all the time,” and somehow I let it slide for one too many times before I broke it off.

When I got my first big girl job and wholeheartedly believed my boss when he said we were building the greatest thing on earth and worked overtime to fulfill that dream. Because who doesn’t want to believe their work is the greatest purpose of their life?

Sometimes, it was nothing. Other times, it was a gut feeling that made me leave long before I could put into words.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Eventually, I have left all the institutions that made me feel any ounce of guilt for being there. Anything that creates dissonance—jobs, relationships, friendships, beliefs—feels wrong to keep in my life, even if it started out as my choice. Everyone is selling something, and if I don’t vibe with it, I’m out.

And yet, here I am.

With this post, I’m selling you an idea. With my content, I’m selling you my brand. I’m also the salesperson flagging down a stranger, hoping they’ll stop and hear me out for 40 minutes. And was I ever as innocent as I made myself seem? I voluntarily stepped through the door in all those situations, they just held out their hand and walked me in.

Maybe I’m just the next dead sea skincare salesperson in the making.

⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

I think I just wanted to belong and be accepted. To be part of something bigger than myself. A person, a group, an organization, a God I chose and who chose me back. But as I’ve gotten older and become more protective of my space, I have grown more aware of how walking through a mall with an open heart can invite unspoken contracts.

Some doors are better left unopened.