Today I went to South Coast Plaza with the hopes of returning a Lacoste polo; the transaction hinged on finding something I liked better for which to exchange my shirt. Mission: failed.
Who knew I could ever, EVER feel so out of place among bourgouise! I felt awash in uncomfortability and insecurity in ways I can't recall having felt before. E.g. While in Hugo Boss, I noticed a female customer's gaze, which she concealed in a perfunctory and rather ineffective way. The woman kept peering demi-discreetly at my bag to see where I had been shopping. Sad is the fact that she felt compelled to size me up based on name-branding, but sadder still was my relief that I carried a Nordstrom's bag, and not one from Penny's or Sears. (I know, I know: I've already admitted how pathetic that reaction was, so there's no need to leave comments about it for this post.) What kind of person judges others on such a thing? And what kind of person seeks approval and validation from those who judge others in this way?
Essentially everyone at South Coast (with a few notable exceptions) was decked out in duds that cost, mmm...each outfit probably cost about as much as I've made in the past month. Observing the well-heeled isn't a particularly novel experience for me, but this was super-high-end-couture made to look casual, to give the impression that the wearer wasn't trying too hard. The effect was bizarre...almost surreal: it was conspicuous consumption made to look effortless and natural. It was conspicuous consumption under the facade of inconspicuousness—an ingenious design achieving the ultimate aim, inspiring awe through an ostentatious display of wealth. Their apparel screamed out, "LOOK AT ME! I'm so rich, I can waste money on clothing that looks thrift store, but cost about as much as you spent last year on gasoline. I'm so rich, I can afford not to show it off."
Who knew I could ever, EVER feel so out of place among bourgouise! I felt awash in uncomfortability and insecurity in ways I can't recall having felt before. E.g. While in Hugo Boss, I noticed a female customer's gaze, which she concealed in a perfunctory and rather ineffective way. The woman kept peering demi-discreetly at my bag to see where I had been shopping. Sad is the fact that she felt compelled to size me up based on name-branding, but sadder still was my relief that I carried a Nordstrom's bag, and not one from Penny's or Sears. (I know, I know: I've already admitted how pathetic that reaction was, so there's no need to leave comments about it for this post.) What kind of person judges others on such a thing? And what kind of person seeks approval and validation from those who judge others in this way?
Essentially everyone at South Coast (with a few notable exceptions) was decked out in duds that cost, mmm...each outfit probably cost about as much as I've made in the past month. Observing the well-heeled isn't a particularly novel experience for me, but this was super-high-end-couture made to look casual, to give the impression that the wearer wasn't trying too hard. The effect was bizarre...almost surreal: it was conspicuous consumption made to look effortless and natural. It was conspicuous consumption under the facade of inconspicuousness—an ingenious design achieving the ultimate aim, inspiring awe through an ostentatious display of wealth. Their apparel screamed out, "LOOK AT ME! I'm so rich, I can waste money on clothing that looks thrift store, but cost about as much as you spent last year on gasoline. I'm so rich, I can afford not to show it off."
Naturally the insecurities about my socio-economic status [which, upon further reflection, I found to be totally unfounded: standard-of-living-wise, I'm sure I'm in the top 1% demographic for income of all the world's citizens] brought out my pensive, self-reflective side. As I analyzed my feelings of shame, it occurred to me that they might have a different genesis: my guilt stemmed from my complicity of desiring to and being a part of the South Coast culture. I wanted to blend in and match in my Lacoste polo (which does look very good on me, btw). One thought led to another (as thoughts so often do), and soon I was awash in guilt: guilt from materialism, guilt from living in so wealthy a country, in so wealthy a state, guilt from shopping in one of the most decadent, ostentatious bastions of conspicuous consumption in the known universe. Guilt for wanting South Coasters' approval, guilt for being a part of their game...and for dessert at this guilt buffet: a sense of revulsion at their wealth and the prodigal ways that they spend it—all topped off with a little crème fraîche.
I should point out here that the whole shopping experience wasn't so neurosis-inducing. While the workers at John Varvatos made me feel "less than" [despite the fact that they are the ostensible servants and I am the client], the salespeople at Bloomingdale's were kind and hospitable. It was particularly bad at Hugo Boss, where the retailers took one look and me, sized up my credit limit, and snubbed me in an effort to hasten my exit from their store. Apparently I was polluting their rarefied air with my carbon-based life. Mortals are not welcome in the kingdom of sweetness and light.
And because no commentary on South Coast Plaza would be complete without a dollop of hypocrisy, allow me to indulge in a little superficiality of my own, by way of an observation I made while shopping. I saw two very...heavy-set (is that term still PC?) women walking into A&F. What's the deal with that? Don't they feel uber out of place in a repository of images of half-naked women, all unashamedly and quite blatantly a very narrow view of what constitutes 'beautiful' and 'fashionable'? (The definitions to these two terms, according to the photos bedecking the A&F walls, do not include shoppers with body fat percentages over 2%.) I suppose if they can feel okay going into a store like that, I should feel comfortable enough with my class-ification to shop at South Coast—but seriously, what were they going to buy there? They'd have to each buy two XXLs garments each and sew them together to get enough fabric to produce something that might reasonably be expected to cover their bodies.
I should point out here that the whole shopping experience wasn't so neurosis-inducing. While the workers at John Varvatos made me feel "less than" [despite the fact that they are the ostensible servants and I am the client], the salespeople at Bloomingdale's were kind and hospitable. It was particularly bad at Hugo Boss, where the retailers took one look and me, sized up my credit limit, and snubbed me in an effort to hasten my exit from their store. Apparently I was polluting their rarefied air with my carbon-based life. Mortals are not welcome in the kingdom of sweetness and light.
And because no commentary on South Coast Plaza would be complete without a dollop of hypocrisy, allow me to indulge in a little superficiality of my own, by way of an observation I made while shopping. I saw two very...heavy-set (is that term still PC?) women walking into A&F. What's the deal with that? Don't they feel uber out of place in a repository of images of half-naked women, all unashamedly and quite blatantly a very narrow view of what constitutes 'beautiful' and 'fashionable'? (The definitions to these two terms, according to the photos bedecking the A&F walls, do not include shoppers with body fat percentages over 2%.) I suppose if they can feel okay going into a store like that, I should feel comfortable enough with my class-ification to shop at South Coast—but seriously, what were they going to buy there? They'd have to each buy two XXLs garments each and sew them together to get enough fabric to produce something that might reasonably be expected to cover their bodies.
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