I have a secret pick-me-up spot, a place I go when I want to feel fabulous. They don’t give out massages, they don’t serve cocktails and as far as I know there are no illicit dealings going on there. The best part: It’s absolutely free. I’m going to share my heavenly haven right here, because we’re all women and every one of you deserves to know about it, visit it frequently and bask in its magnificence. I’m talking about the fitting rooms at Anthropologie. The space isn’t particularly luxurious or ample, the seats are hard and cold; but the lighting—oh, the lighting!—is downright bewitching. Inside that sanctified 5-by-5 space, I am a golden goddess, smooth and flawless (well, relatively speaking). If that lighting existed in the rest of the world, I wouldn’t even be shocked if I got carded to vote or was asked to model some modest lingerie. I haven’t figured out the secret yet, and believe me I’ve tried. Maybe the mirrors have the faintest layer of flattering film pasted to them or are tilted ever so slightly at some mystical angle; perhaps the light bulbs are pink. Whatever it is, I’m hooked. Listen up, designers of all other fitting rooms on the planet: Next time I get the urge to count my pores or scrutinize my thighs in glorious topographical detail, I’ll be sure to visit your fluorescently floodlit cubes. (Nothing like a little cellulighting to really brighten my day!) In the meantime, you could take a page out of Anthropologie’s playbook and probably double sales overnight. A suggestion: If you experience a bit of sticker-shock when you’re in there (Anthropologie’s duds are admittedly not inexpensive), remember that anything you buy wouldn’t look quite so good at home—minus that magical ambiance—anyhow. You’re just using them for the free, flattering light. Hey, they asked for it. Jenna McCarthy is the author of The Parent Trip: From High Heels and Parties to Highchairs and Potties. When she’s not admiring herself in a strangely flattering public fitting room, she can be found online at jennamccarthy.com.