The perhaps fittingly named “Black Friday” has come and gone which means it’s that time of year, the time when the spectacle of consumption ignites my already cantankerous tendencies as a social observer. (I must remind myself that I actually do enjoy charade of being alive.) But lest my perspective be lumped in with the feel-good “real meaning of Christmas” crowd or nostalgia for the (likely fictional) good ol’ days, I should strain to go a bit deeper here.
I’m not allowed to go shopping with my mother or sister – it’s a rule. They’ve known me long enough to know that it won’t end well. I might start out chipper but it’s an inevitability that ten minutes into a romp through Mervin’s (much less a mall) and I will begin to loose it. I’m not sure I can explain why. I’ve been like this since I was probably five and I’m not ruling out the possibility that five is the level of emotional maturity I revert to when I get around an excess of clothing racks, mannequins, or immaculate window displays.
This summer, for example, a friend told me about a new store he described as the “Japanese American Appearal,” (another store I loath in a narcissism of small differences sort of way) which he said was as interesting in it’s style and “concept” than its merchandise. Retailers in New York often have to rely on an additional conceptual appeal to stand out. This one was down the street from a Prada store that has some giant half-pipe-looking wooden structure in it and a bar masquerading as a cosmetics counter. The store in question ended up being called Uniglo and I went to check it out.
The first thing that stuck me upon walking in was the presentation. I wasn’t sure what I was being presented with exactly but that ambiguity was to the store’s advantage as the clothing was mostly unremarkable. The clothes function a lot like elements in a painting in that aesthetic appeal has more to do with a larger context within the layout of the store. Here is a slideshow. The symmetry was unsettling so I got outta there.
I thought I might find respite at Beacon’s Closet, a reliable if trendy vintage thrift in Williamsburg. Though many of my clothes are from similar stores, there is something dissonant for me about the idea of upscale thrift. This feeling is probably bound up with some sort of personal conception of “authenticity” that I would surely find problematic if probed. It must have something to do with the idea of purchasing identity (of course no one’s hands are entirely clean there.) Context plays a role too: it means something different to dress a certain way when your peers are unimaginative suburban teens in Phoenix than it does to wear the same outfit that might strike one an entirely uniform in Brooklyn. At the store I spotted a prime shirt that seemed very Arizona in its style. I swiped it before anyone with a less legitimate claim to that identity could pick it up and booked it on out, away from the anxiety of commerce. It’s now my favorite shirt.
1 Comment
November 29, 2007 at 2:26 pm
This post is pretty good. Maybe your keys are in that shirt…I haven’t seen it in a while either…
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