I have to admit, I’m embarrassed. I’ve become that person. You know, the ones that cheque the George at Asda app frantically, drive to different stores like they’re searching for the last PS5 at Christmas, get genuinely excited about a £15 vest top. I’m a former PR professional, for crying out loud! I had standards! And yet, I’m a grown-up, getting butterflies when someone posts a TikTok about finding the sage green one back in stock.
It all started when Emma (my 7 year old) asked me why I only wore “boring mom clothes” when we were out. Yeah, ouch. Fair enough. I’d gotten sucked into that trap of buying stuff from Target’s activewear section and leftover clothes from my pre-kids wardrobe that no longer fit. That feeling when you glance at yourself in a store window and think “Who is that woman in the stretched-out cardigan?”
So there I was, running behind schedule for the weekly Asda shop. We have Asda in some parts of the Twin Cities now, which still feels strange to say. I was already running behind schedule, had a cart full of groceries and mentally ticking off 17 other errands, when I literally bumped into a woman holding up what looked like the most perfect cream colored tank top I’d ever seen.
“Sorry,” I said, attempting to wriggle my ridiculously creaky cart around her. But she was simply standing there staring at this top as if it contained the secret of the universe.
“Have you seen the TikToks about this?” she asked. Honestly, that was not what I expected from another frazzled mom clearly having her own frantic trip to do the grocery shopping. She looked like me – yoga pants, messy ponytail, that slightly desperate expression of someone attempting to get everything done prior to school pickup.
Okay, I’ll admit I’m not exactly a TikTok user. Most of my TikTok knowledge comes directly from my teenage niece, who spends summers visiting and makes me watch videos of teenagers creating intricate coffee drinks and changing outfits. I never imagined I would care about TikTok-based fashion trends. I was correct about feeling old; incorrect about caring.
“What TikToks?” I asked, as apparently I am now that person — getting fashion advice while grocery shopping from a total stranger.
She pulled out her phone in the middle of the aisle. Showed me video after video of women styling this exact top – the ribbed high-neck sleeveless top she was holding. Teens wearing it with oversized jeans and chunky sneakers. Moms wearing it with blazers and looking like they were putting their lives together. A couple of fashion bloggers combining it with designer pieces like it belonged there.
“Fifteen pounds,” she said, as if she were sharing classified information. “My daughter has been begging me to find one for weeks. They sell out online.”
I gazed at the top again. Seriously gazed at it. The material felt robust – not that thin, transparent material you normally get from supermarket clothing. The cut seemed… designed, almost? Like someone had thoughtfully considered how it would drape on an actual human body, rather than just how it would hang on a rack.
“They have three colours left,” she said, clearly sensing my interest. “Black, cream, and I think one brown. Apparently, the sage green sells out in like minutes.”
I picked the cream one in my size without thinking much about it. Stuffed it into my cart next to the Goldfish crackers and that questionable frozen pizza the kids had begged for. Felt somewhat silly, but also oddly excited in a manner I hadn’t felt about clothes… possibly since before I had kids.
When I eventually tried it on at home – after bribing Jackson with screen time so I could have 5 minutes of solitude in my bedroom – I got it. I really understood. The top looked expensive. Not like I had spent my entire grocery budget on clothes. Rather, it looked like I was a put-together individual who thoughtfully selects my wardrobe. The neck line sat perfectly, the length paired well with everything I attempted it with, and it made my post-baby body seem deliberate, rather than simply like I gave up on myself.
I wore it the next day to drop the kids at school. Pairs it with my only pair of jeans that fit, and some white shoes that aren’t ruined yet. Three separate moms complimented it. THREE. When was the last time anyone noticed what I was wearing except for my children pointing out new stains?
“Where is that from?” asked Sarah, who always appears effortlessly fashionable in a manner that both inspires envy and makes me question her motives. “You look so chic with those jeans.”
“Asda,” I said. Waiting for her reaction.
Her eyes widened. “No way. The TikTok one? My sister has been trying to get one for weeks! How did you find it?”
Apparently, half the moms at school knew about this top. Some were actively searching for it. Others had teenagers at home begging them to find one. There was this large underground network of women sharing info on which locations carried it, what sizes were available, etc., about the online restocking rumors.
I went down a rabbit hole that evening after the kids were in bed. Searched “George Asda Vest” on TikTok and discovered millions – literally millions – of views. Videos of people styling it in hundreds of different ways. Videos of hauls of successful hunting missions. Sad videos of empty racks and sold-out websites. The comments were a sort of support group for women obsessed with a supermarket tank top.
“Gone to four ASDAs, nothing in my size anywhere”
“Wearing mine to my work meeting tomorrow, wishing me luck”
“Can’t believe I’m 45 and taking fashion guidance from 19-year-olds but here we are”
The last one hit a bit too close to home.
I began wearing the top non-stop. With a blazer for school events where I needed to appear like a competent functioning adult. Over a long-sleeve shirt when the weather wouldn’t make up its mind. Under cardigans, with midi skirts I had forgotten existed. Even with my best jeans when my husband and I managed a rare date night. Each time, I felt like me again – not just mom-me, but the person I used to be who cared about how she looked.
The kids noticed too. “Mommy, you look nice today,” Emma said, which should have made me cry and actually did. Jackson, being the practical one he is, simply wanted to know why I was wearing “dress-up clothes” to Target.
Two weeks later, I was back at Asda – we had gone through everything since apparently my children live solely on snack food – and saw that they had restocked the vests. There were women of all ages surrounding the entire vest display, holding up various colours, asking each other for advice. It seemed like a mini-community had developed around this rack of $15 tops.
An older woman, perhaps sixty-something, was studying the brown one. “My granddaughter posted 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! Do I get it?”
I ended up joining the impromptu styling session, assisting a college-aged female in deciding on colours, seeking advice from an aunt regarding sizing. It was odd and enjoyable and totally unexpected – a chance encounter over budget-friendly fashion in a grocery store.
I purchased the brown one. Simply for variety. I assure you it was definitely not because I had become consumed by a supermarket vest.
However, here’s the thing – I believe this little top represents something larger than just a viral fashion trend. It represents finding happiness in inexpensive things when everything else seems expensive and overwhelming. It represents the realization that great style does not necessarily depend on a huge budget, or countless hours of shopping. It represents community – even if it is a group of strangers connecting over TikTok recommendations in the grocery store.
Most importantly, it reminded me that I do not have to choose between being a mom and being someone who takes pride in how she dresses. I can wear a £15 vest from the supermarket with my favorite jeans and be confident dropping the kids off at school. I can take fashion inspiration from teenagers on TikTok and not feel like a fool. I can slowly rebuild my wardrobe sense, affordably, reasonably.
The sage green one came back in stock last week. I might have purchased two — one for me, and one for my sister, who has been politely, yet very subtly, hinting at the same. Sometimes the greatest fashion finds come from the most unlikely sources. Even if that source is situated between the bananas and the dishwasher detergent, and costs less than a respectable bottle of wine.
Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and cheque if they have the brown in a size up. For layering reasons. Definitely not because I’ve completely lost my mind over a supermarket tank top. Although, between you and I, perhaps losing your mind over something that gives you confidence in how you look isn’t the worst thing in the world.
