Will I cry when the last Claire’s shuts its doors? Not exactly. But I’ll probably stand outside, staring at the now-empty window, and remember the time I bought a plastic tiara for a “formal” birthday party in Year 5. I wore it for exactly three hours, lost a rhinestone, and spent the rest of the night poking myself in the forehead with the glue that held the others on.
That’s the thing about Claire’s: it wasn’t good, but it was fun. It was the friend who shows up to your party wearing socks with sandals and tells you a slightly inappropriate joke. It was messy, loud, and full of things you didn’t need but suddenly wanted. So, pour one out for the pink-and-purple empire. You deserved better signage, but you gave us so many memories—most of which involve a slightly infected earlobe. Farewell, you glorious, glittery mess.
