Why I Drove to Three Different Asdas for a £15 Top (And You Probably Should Too)

Okay, so I need to confess something that’s been eating at me for weeks. I’ve become one of those people. You know the ones – frantically checking the George at Asda app, driving to different locations like I’m hunting for the last PS5 at Christmas, getting genuinely excited about a fifteen-pound vest top. I mean, I used to work in PR! I had standards! And here I am, getting actual butterflies when someone posts a TikTok about finding the sage green one back in stock.

It started because Emma – my seven-year-old, not exactly a fashion authority – kept asking why I only wear “boring mom clothes” when we’re out. Which, ouch, but also fair? I’d fallen into that trap where everything I owned was either from Target’s activewear section or those sad remnants from my pre-kids wardrobe that no longer fit quite right. You know that feeling when you catch a glimpse of yourself in a store window and think “who is that woman in the stretched-out cardigan?”

So there I was, doing the weekly Asda run – because yes, we have Asda in some parts of the Twin Cities now, which still feels weird to say – when I took a wrong turn near the clothing section. I was already running late, had a cart full of groceries and a mental list of seventeen other errands, when I literally walked straight into this woman holding up what looked like the most perfect cream-colored tank top I’d ever seen.

“Oh God, sorry,” I said, trying to maneuver my ridiculously squeaky cart around her. But she was just standing there, examining this top like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Have you seen the TikToks about this?” she asked, which honestly wasn’t what I expected from a fellow mom clearly doing her own frazzled grocery run. She looked like me – yoga pants, messy ponytail, that slightly desperate look of someone trying to get everything done before school pickup.

Now, I’ll admit my TikTok knowledge comes entirely from my teenage niece who visits every summer and forces me to watch videos of people making elaborate coffee drinks and doing outfit changes. I’m not exactly plugged into fashion TikTok, mostly because I assumed it would just make me feel old and frumpy. Turns out I was right about the old part, wrong about whether I’d care.

“What TikToks?” I asked, because apparently I was now that person – getting fashion tips in the grocery store from a complete stranger.

She pulls out her phone right there in the aisle. Shows me video after video of women styling this exact top – the ribbed high-neck sleeveless thing she was holding. Teenagers wearing it with baggy jeans and chunky sneakers. Moms pairing it with blazers and looking like they actually had their lives together. Even a few fashion blogger types mixing it with designer pieces like it belonged there.

“Fifteen pounds,” she said, like she was sharing state secrets. “My daughter’s been begging me to find one for weeks. They’re always sold out online.”

I looked at the top again. Really looked at it. The fabric felt substantial – not that thin, see-through material you usually get at supermarket clothing sections. The cut looked… architectural, almost? Like someone had actually thought about how it would sit on a real human body, not just how it would look hanging on a rack.

“They have three colors left,” she continued, clearly sensing my interest. “Black, cream, and I think one brown. The sage green sells out in like, minutes apparently.”

I grabbed the cream one in my size without really thinking about it. Shoved it in my cart next to the Goldfish crackers and that questionable frozen pizza the kids had begged for. Felt slightly ridiculous but also oddly excited in a way I hadn’t about clothes in… God, probably years.

When I got home and actually tried it on – after bribing Jackson with screen time so I could have five minutes alone in my bedroom – I got it. I really got it. The top looked expensive. Not like “I spent my grocery money on clothes” expensive, but like “I’m a put-together person who makes thoughtful wardrobe choices” expensive. The neckline hit perfectly, the length worked with everything I tried it with, and somehow it made my post-baby body look intentional instead of like I’d given up on myself.

I wore it the next day to drop the kids at school. Paired it with my one pair of jeans that actually fit and some white sneakers that weren’t completely destroyed. Three different moms complimented it. THREE. When was the last time anyone noticed what I was wearing besides my children pointing out mysterious stains?

“Where’s that from?” asked Sarah, who always looks effortlessly stylish in a way that makes me simultaneously envious and suspicious. “It looks so chic with those jeans.”

“Asda,” I said, waiting for her reaction.

Her eyes went wide. “No way. The TikTok one? My sister’s been trying to get one for weeks! How did you find it?”

Turns out half the moms at school had heard about this top. Some had been actively hunting for it. Others had teenagers at home demanding they find one. There was this whole underground network of women sharing intel about which locations had stock, what sizes were available, whether the online restock rumors were true.

I went down a rabbit hole that night after the kids were in bed. Searched “George Asda vest” on TikTok and found millions – literally millions – of views. Videos of people styling it dozens of different ways. Haul videos of successful hunting expeditions. Sad videos of empty racks and sold-out websites. The comments were like a support group for women obsessed with a supermarket tank top.

“Been to four Asdas, nothing in my size anywhere”
“Wearing mine to my work presentation tomorrow, wish me luck”
“Can’t believe I’m 45 and taking fashion advice from 19-year-olds but here we are”

That last one hit a little too close to home.

I started wearing the top constantly. With a blazer for school events where I wanted to look like a functional adult. Over a long-sleeved shirt when the weather couldn’t make up its mind. Under cardigans, with midi skirts I’d forgotten I owned, even with my nicest jeans when my husband and I managed a rare date night. Every time, I felt like myself again – not just mom-me, but the person I used to be who cared about looking good.

The kids noticed too. “Mommy, you look pretty today,” Emma said one morning, which shouldn’t have made me tear up but absolutely did. Jackson, ever practical, just wanted to know why I was wearing “fancy clothes” to Target.

Two weeks later, I was back at Asda – we’d run out of everything because apparently my children survive entirely on snacks – when I saw they’d restocked the vests. The whole display was surrounded by women of all ages, holding up different colors, asking each other’s opinions. It was like a little community had formed around this rack of fifteen-dollar tops.

An older woman, maybe sixty-something, was examining the brown one. “My granddaughter showed me the videos,” she told her friend. “Said it would look nice with my good trousers.”

A teenager was FaceTiming someone, holding up the black one. “Mom, they finally have your size! Should I get it?”

I found myself joining the impromptu styling session, helping a college-age girl decide between colors, getting advice from someone’s aunt about sizing. It was weird and wonderful and completely unexpected – this random moment of connection over budget fashion in a grocery store.

I left with the brown one. For variety, I told myself. Definitely not because I was becoming obsessed with a supermarket vest.

But here’s the thing – I think this little top represents something bigger than just a viral fashion moment. It’s about finding joy in small, affordable things when everything else feels expensive and overwhelming. It’s about discovering that good style doesn’t require a massive budget or endless shopping trips. It’s about community – even if that community is a bunch of strangers bonding over TikTok recommendations in the grocery store.

Most importantly, it reminded me that I don’t have to choose between being a mom and being someone who cares about looking good. I can wear a fifteen-pound top from the supermarket with my favorite jeans and feel confident dropping the kids off at school. I can take fashion inspiration from teenagers on TikTok without feeling ridiculous. I can rebuild my sense of style gradually, affordably, realistically.

The sage green one finally came back in stock last week. I may have ordered two – one for me, one for my sister who’s been not-so-subtly dropping hints. Because sometimes the best fashion discoveries come from the most unexpected places. Even if that place is sandwiched between the bananas and the dishwasher tablets, and costs less than a decent bottle of wine.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check if they’ve restocked the brown in a size up. For layering purposes, obviously. Definitely not because I’ve completely lost my mind over a supermarket tank top. Although, between you and me, maybe losing your mind over something that makes you feel good about yourself isn’t the worst thing in the world.