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At Anthropologie’s pop-up furniture sale in Philly, good deals and long lines build community

The sale — which runs through July 23 at the Philadelphia Mills Mall — sold out within two days of opening, drawing long lines and shoppers from out of state when it reopened on July 7.

Natalie Lukasik, 30, of East Falls, associate at Anthropologie's Marlton location, helps customers tag chairs they are planning to buy during the Anthropologie pop-up furniture sale at the Philadelphia Mills Mall.
Natalie Lukasik, 30, of East Falls, associate at Anthropologie's Marlton location, helps customers tag chairs they are planning to buy during the Anthropologie pop-up furniture sale at the Philadelphia Mills Mall.Read moreTyger Williams / Staff Photographer

Nearly 200 people lined up just as the Philadelphia Mills Mall opened its doors at 9 a.m. Friday, snaking past clothing stores and an Auntie Anne’s stand for a shot at heavily discounted pink couches, vintagey end tables, and viral rose gold-framed mirrors.

That was the scene at Anthropologie’s pop-up furniture sale, which is occupying a vacant storefront at the Northeast Philly mall through July 23 and pushing discounts of what they say is up to 60% off.

The deals — coupled with an influencer marketing campaign spanning Instagram and TikTok — have created a fervent following around Anthropologie’s home decor that you’d sooner associate with Taylor Swift concerts or streetwear drops. For those who drove hours for the pop-up, it’s about both the art of the deal and building community with people who would also skip work to browse furniture.

On Friday, the 40,000-square-foot space was filled with color-coordinated rows of furniture and home accessories, freshly stocked after the pop-up initially sold out within 24 hours of opening on July 2. Employees handed out water bottles and granola bars to the Anthropologie acolytes waiting in line.

Among them was Trish Gentile, 63, who was first in line for the sale with her daughter. The duo drove nearly two hours from Long Island before waiting in the parking lot at 6:50 a.m., all in hopes of securing a set of planters, lamps, and tastefully upholstered chairs.

“Our plan is to divide and conquer,” said Gentile, while her daughter, who didn’t want to be named, examined the pop-up’s floor plan. Gentile would look for chairs, her daughter would snag the smaller items, and they’d rendezvous near the rugs before checkout.

Cameron Tucker, 32, of Fairmount, was also there with her mom after friends flooded her Instagram direct messages with the same video from @phlbucketlist, a Philadelphia lifestyle influencer with over 288,000 followers.

Tucker, who described her home aesthetic as “anthro” (short for Anthropologie) was on the hunt for an end table and chairs to fill her bedroom, but the real star of the show is the 6-foot-tall version of the Gleaming Primrose Mirror, which has gone viral thanks to its regency-style framing. Normally retailing for upward of $1,700, the piece is on sale for $500.

“She probably doesn’t even know what the mirror looks like,” said Tucker about her mom, whom she considers to be her stylist and interior designer. “I made her take off work because she has a bigger car.”

Building a consumption community

The magic of Anthropologie’s pop-up sale lies in its ability to create a FOMO-inducing experience, said Barbara Kahn, a professor of marketing at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business, where she researches consumer decision-making.

Kahn likened the following around Anthropologie’s Central Pennsylvania warehouse sales and pop-ups to the one that accompanied Supreme and Louis Vuitton’s footwear collaboration in 2017, which used limited-run product drops to create experiences that tie consumers’ identities to the brands.

» READ MORE: A look inside Anthropologie's home goods and furniture outlet in Pittsburgh

“Some of what was happening there had to do with the line itself,” said Kahn. “People like the community of waiting in line, even if they don’t end up with something.”

Anthropologie heightened the fear of missing out with an expansive influencer marketing campaign previewing the sale.

“We greatly value our relationships with our content creators and influencers in our social community,” Anthropologie said in a statement. The company declined to answer questions about the cumulative reach of these videos or the number of creators they worked with.

Kahn said the influencer marketing campaign’s true purpose is to create a consumption community, wherein people form friendships and personalities through the things they buy.

“Their videos say to viewers, ‘If you consider yourself a trendy Philadelphian, you need to be at this sale,’ ” Kahn said.

Sarah Warden, 33, of the Italian Market neighborhood, found out about the sale from a TikTok by Cass Foley — aka @cassinthecity — that has been viewed more than 76,000 times. Warden could list past Anthropologie deals with warp speed: They offered 30% off during Black Friday last year; their annual winter sale is 40% off.

Ny Richardson, 29, who drove from Newark, N.J., with her best friend, knew she had to snag a mirror after hearing about the sale from lifestyle influencers.

“Once stuff is on TikTok, I have to check it out,” said Richardson.

The psychology of a good sale

Anna Aguillard, 28, commuted two hours from D.C. for a modest haul: two rugs, a bathroom cabinet, a small mirror, and a basket that she hasn’t the faintest idea of what to fill it with.

In line to check out, Aguillard estimated that she had spent just under $1,000, but wasn’t hung up on prices, since everything is supposed to be a good deal.

Thing is: How do you know if Anthropologie’s pop-up is actually chock full of bona fide discounts?

You don’t, said Kahn, because the Philadelphia Mills pop-up operates a lot like a TJ Maxx. Shoppers have little idea about what they’re going to find, so there’s no reference for what’s a fair price.

“It’s like a personal challenge,” said Kahn. “You don’t know if the item you want is there, just that you’re getting a good deal.”

For Shanee Griffith, 30, who bought a sectional for $2,000 on a whim after driving from Harlem to Philadelphia without a U-Haul, that idea rang true.

“This felt like a treat,” Griffith said before sinking into her new couch.