Jess has five things over her arm. She walked past forty racks, dodged a mannequin and carried them all the way to the back of the store.
That isn't browsing. That's a woman with her wallet halfway out of her bag.
And this is exactly the moment we leave her alone in a cupboard.
Cubicle three
Jess pulls the curtain. It doesn't quite close. It never quite closes.
The gap is precisely the width of a passing stranger's eyeline.
The jeans are too small. Not her fault, not the jeans' fault. Sizing is a lie the whole industry has agreed to.
She needs the next size up. The next size up is out on the shop floor, which means getting fully dressed, finding it, and coming back.
She does not do this. Nobody has ever done this.
The top is lovely. She'd like to see it with something other than the gym leggings she wore in. There's nobody to ask.
She takes one last look under lighting chosen by someone who clearly hates her. Then she hangs all five things on the "no thanks" rail and walks out past the counter with empty hands.
Nobody noticed. On today's numbers, Jess doesn't exist. She just looked.
Think about what it took to get her into that cubicle. The window display. The rent. The ads. The mannequin budget. Then, at the exact moment she's closest to paying, the store hands her a curtain and walks off.
Most sales don't die at the till. They die quietly in cubicle three, behind a curtain that doesn't close.
Now rewind
Same Jess. Same five things. Same curtain, still not closing.
Staff: How are we going in there? Want me to grab any other sizes?
Jess: Actually, could I get these in a 12?
Staff: On their way.
Jess was about to leave. Now she's waiting for a delivery. People don't walk out while they're waiting for a delivery.
Staff: That top would look great with the wide-leg pants on the front table. Want me to bring a pair in?
This is the bit that sounds like a sales tactic and lands like a favour. She was already wondering what to wear it with. Someone just answered her.
Jess walks out with the jeans, the top and the pants. She'll tell her friends the staff were lovely, which they were. Total cost to the store: about two minutes and a short walk to the front table.
The two minutes that will print money for your store
- The intent is already there. Anyone who carries clothes into a fitting room has decided they want something. You don't have to create desire. You just have to not lose it.
- The right size is the whole sale. A wrong size is the easiest sale in the world to lose, and the easiest one to save.
- A styling suggestion is the upsell nobody resents. The customer was already asking themselves the question. You're just the one who answered it.
- It costs nothing. No new stock, no discount, no campaign. A check-in and a walk to the shelf.
The fitting room costs you two minutes of attention. Ignoring it costs you the sale.
Steal it
- Check in early. Within a couple of minutes: "How are we going? Want any other sizes?"
- Fetch, don't send. Bring the size to them. Never make a half-dressed customer go looking.
- Bring one thing that goes with it. Carry it in. A suggestion they can try beats one they have to imagine.
- Catch them at the curtain. "Any of those working for you?" is the difference between a no-thanks rail and a till.
And one rule for the whole team: nobody leaves the fitting room without a human asking how it went.
