Yes. Men hate the retail store Anthropologie. More specifically, they hate going inside. They also hate waiting outside the store because their spouses and girlfriends enter and disappear into a time warp that makes them blissfully unaware the rest of the world still exists.
Is it the old-timey bars of soap? The signs written in French that tell you where the bathroom is? Maybe it's the lacy clothes that only your girlfriend's hippie aunt from Topanga would wear. In the end, we hate it because of its effectiveness in drawing women like a super magnet.
I used to feel the same about the way the Williams-Sonoma store would lure women in with the promise the freshly baked pumpkin spice muffins, only to deliver overpriced kitchen tools and rosemary focaccia bread mixes that sit on the counter and never ever get made.
Damn you Anthropolgie. Damn you and your Terracotta Chess Sets. And damn your $2,100 painting easel with paint splotches already spattered on the wood.