Broke Millennials Are 'De-Influencing' Department Stores Into Oblivion And Honestly, Good Riddance
Look, I get it. Walking into a Macy’s in 2025 is like walking into your grandparent’s house after they’ve been dead for three years. The lights are dim, the carpet smells vaguely of regret and stale potpourri, and there’s a 70% chance a man named Chester is trying to sell you a $400 cashmere scarf that looks like it was woven from the fur of a depressed hedgehog. But apparently, the youth have had enough. The latest trend sweeping TikTok and Reddit isn’t about the perfect “capsule wardrobe” or finding the next viral drugstore lipstick. Oh no, it’s something far more sinister to the corporate overlords: it’s called “de-influencing.” And it’s currently curb-stomping the last remaining department stores into a fine, beige dust.
For the uninitiated, “de-influencing” is the digital equivalent of your friend grabbing your Starbucks order out of your hand and pouring it down the drain while screaming, “YOU DON’T NEED THIS, KAREN!” It’s the anti-haul. It’s people with 50 followers and a shaky iPhone camera telling you, “Actually, that $85 ‘Sunday Morning’ candle from Nordstrom smells exactly like a wet dog that slept in a Yankee Candle factory.” And the target of this righteous, chaotic energy? The great American department store.
And honestly? About damn time.
Let’s break down the current state of affairs. Department stores are a zombie apocalypse. They’re the Walking Dead of retail. They’ve been shambling along for years, held together by sheer inertia and the undying loyalty of Boomers who still think “going to the mall” is a valid Saturday activity. We’ve got Macy’s closing 150 stores. We’ve got Nordstrom Rack looking like the site of a Black Friday riot that happened three years ago and no one cleaned up. JCPenney is basically a museum of “stuff white people bought in 2007.” And don’t even get me started on Kohl’s. Kohl’s is the retail equivalent of a participation trophy. It exists exclusively to sell you a 40% off coupon for a toaster you don’t need, while you’re trying to return a pair of socks your aunt gave you for Christmas in 2019.
But the real reason these dinosaurs are going extinct isn’t just Amazon. It’s not just the rise of direct-to-consumer brands like Glossier or Everlane. No, the final nail in the coffin is the fact that Gen Z and Millennials have collectively decided that paying full price for anything is a form of financial self-harm. And they are taking their frustrations to the internet with a level of petty that would make a Greek god blush.
The “de-influencing” content targeting department stores is brutal. It’s not just saying, “This sweater is ugly.” It’s a full forensic audit. A typical video will have a 22-year-old with a septum piercing holding up a polyester-blend blouse from the “Impulse” section of Bloomingdale’s. They’ll zoom in on the tag. “$128. Made from 100% recycled trash. Fits like a garbage bag. Dry clean only. Sis, you can get the exact same thing at Target for $18 and it will survive the apocalypse.” Then they’ll pan to the dressing room, which looks like a war crime scene—torn curtains, broken hangers, and a suspicious puddle they refuse to identify. The video ends with them walking out, buying nothing, and captioning it, “Therapy is cheaper than this dopamine hit.”
The comments section? Pure gold. Reddit is having a field day. r/DeInfluencing is basically a support group for people who almost bought a $50 candle. The top posts are all screenshots of exorbitant price tags with captions like, “I can pay my electric bill OR buy this one (1) cashmere beanie. What would you do?” The AITA energy is palpable. People are posting stories of being “pressure-sold” by a 60-year-old saleswoman named Brenda who follows them around until they either buy a $300 bottle of perfume or fake a medical emergency to escape. The verdict is always the same: NTA. Brenda is the asshole. And so is the entire concept of a department store.
But let’s get to the real gut punch. The “de-influencing” movement isn’t just about saving money. It’s about a fundamental shift in values. Boomers grew up with the idea that department stores were a symbol of success. You made it if you could afford a $200 dress from the “better” section of Dillard’s. It was a status marker. For Millennials and Gen Z, that status marker is now a liability. You know what’s a better flex than a Nordstrom bag? Having a savings account. Or not being in crippling student loan debt. Or being able to afford rent. The “de-influencers” are pointing out that buying a $90 “investment” T-shirt from a department store is not an investment. It’s a trap. It’s the retail equivalent of buying a timeshare. You’re paying a premium for the privilege of being sold something by a sad, underpaid employee in a vest.
And the department stores are panicking. They’re trying everything. They’re slashing prices. They’re offering “exclusive” loyalty programs that are about as exclusive as a public library. They’re trying to pretend they’re cool by putting in “experiential” sections—like a pop-up art installation or a juice bar. But nobody is fooled. You can’t polish a turd, even if you put a $12 smoothie next to it. The “de-influencers” see right through it. They’re saying, “No, I’m not going to buy a $75 scented candle because you put it on a marble
Final Thoughts
Having chronicled the rise and fall of retail giants for decades, it’s clear the department store’s true tragedy isn’t the internet—it’s that it forgot its own magic: the curated, almost theatrical experience of discovery. The sprawling floors once offered a sense of civic occasion, a place to see and be seen, which no algorithm can replicate. In the end, these temples of commerce didn’t die from a lack of inventory, but from a loss of soul.