The New York Narrative - Brand Names

My pretty-much perfect Sunday continued as we made our way through the rest of Central Park. We even stopped and sat on a bench for a while to listen to an accordionist and observe a busker who had a Humpty Dumpty puppet. We watched that poor egghead get cracked over and over again but there was always a happy ending when a family stopped by to help. Once at the edge of the park we wandered down 5th Ave where we joined the throngs of faithful followers who worship at the shrines of some very well known Brand Name Temples.

Our first stop, lead by Keeley and my son was Abercrombie and Fitch. Their flagship store features photo opportunities with their tall, well-built male models, or should I say young god's of the male physique. Plaid shirted young Homo-sapians exposing their bronzed six-packs and underwear along with surprisingly modestly dressed young women bid you warm welcome at the front door. It's a good thing because it provides a distraction so you don't realize until you've been sucked into the Abercrombie vortex that sales are NOT part of the observance at the store. You get to stand beside these stunning looking people in front of a backdrop that features the ripped torso's of more scantily clad models while a store appointed photographer takes a Polaroid shot. This feature seemed to be the highlight for anyone of the female sex although my cynical daughter murmured to me a moment before we took our turn, "he's probably gay but I'm going to close my eyes and dream." The store itself was badly lighted, the throbbing club-like music was extremely loud, aisles were cramped and crowded and if you are one of those people allergic to perfume it would be a deathtrap. I think they have their signature scent diffused somehow throughout the entire store. BFF and I found a chair and parked ourselves while everyone else wandered off; thankfully, we were not there long but it did give our tender tootsies a rest. Considering it is such a shrine to fashion it would have been nice if like at temples centuries ago some of their staff could have bathed and perfumed our feet.

As you can probably tell from my little rant I'm pretty cynical when it comes to the world of brand names and marketing and surprisingly it is to my mother I must be grateful for these wary eyes and my circumspect view. My great lesson occurred in the late 1970's when I was a nagging 13 year old, begging my parents for the coolest designer jeans of the time, dark blue Sergio Valentes'. "Everyone is wearing them." I cried. Well, that wasn't quite true of my group but all the cool kids were wearing the $40.00 expensive breeches. "If I don't get them everyone will think I'm a nerd." I wailed and cried for effect.

After several weeks of my incessant badgering I came home one day to find a brand new pair of SV's sitting on my bed. I burst into tears of gratitude, my family did love me after all and I told my mom she was the best person in the whole world. The jeans did did not leave my body for a week and I paraded them proudly to all of my friends and acquaintances at school and the mall. Everyone was totally impressed and jealous; Sergio Valente's were expensive and to have a pair meant that your popularity soared at the blackboard institution you attended. I became "somebody".

Mom finally got the dungarees off my body to wash them and I discovered I had blue thighs from the dark dye. I wore something else that wasn't half as cool to class that day and when I arrived home from my busy school day they were again waiting on my bed. Mom summoned me into her room saying that she wanted to show me something. On her bed was a tattered and bleach stained pair of jeans minus all of the labels. She explained that these were the "real" Sergio jeans that she picked up at a thrift store and how she had carefully taken all the labels off and then stitched those labels onto my new jeans. In her hand she proffered up the dissected "no name" labels for the $14.99 pair of pants that I had been parading around in for the past week.

I was stupefied into silence. My mom looked at me and said, "I'm sorry but I want you to understand that a label is just that, a label. The Sergio Velente company more than likely buys the same no-name jeans and just puts their label on it. One is not better than the other but because "someone" says those jeans are cool they can charge three or four more times for them." It was a profound and life-changing moment. I learned a very important lesson and I do have to admit that there were a couple of times during my later teenage years that I did something similar because I wanted to impress my friends. No one was ever the wiser and everyone thought my family must have been well-off in order to afford some of the items I wore.
As an adult I learned the power of labels and marketing during the beanie babie craze. I was producing little stuffed garden inspired bears for my gift shop and I sold a few of them but they were not flying off the shelves. Watching beanie faddism I determined that if I too signed my bears, made them a numbered series and created a cute name they would sell better. That is exactly what I did and they started to sell better because they had become "collectibles". The realization however, was that they were the same old bears and had only become so desirable because I said they were and marketed them as such. So all in all I've considered brand names nice and if I have opportunity to buy them at a price that is similar or equal to a product of similar quality, I will do so but the trappings of a brand name are just that, trappings.

Unfortunately I have to admit that I'm a hypocrite when it comes to Tiffany & Co. It is the only "brand name" that has gotten a hold of me and won't let go. It's not just any Tiffany's either, it's only New York Tiffany's. There is a Tiffany's in Vancouver, one in Paris and other cities but they don't hold interest for me in any way shape or form. The little known truth is that I'm closet NYC Tiffany's snob.

Some of it has to do with the history of the family and the store. Charles Lewis Tiffany was the founder in 1837 of the institution and because I once had an antique business I learned his silver-work was the standard of quality against which all others of the time were measured. Later, a relative, Lewis Comfort Tiffany took over the business and he became the talented craftsman who was responsible for very unique Arts & Crafts silver jewelry and household items along with his famed stained glass pieces which are unequaled. There is a certain quality that is associated with Tiffany's and I have bought into that hook, line and sinker.

Some of my passion definitely comes from good advertising and marketing; the elegance of Audrey Hepburn, my love of the opening moments of Breakfast at Tiffany's and the scene where her and George Peppard's character try to find something in the store at a reasonable cost have all tugged at my heart and brand consciousness. Sweet Home Alabama didn't help my cause as the fairy-tale private proposal at the store somehow got stuck in the synapses of my brain on repeat.

A lot of it also has to do with our first visit there two years ago. We visited each and every floor and as I've mentioned in a previous blog we were treated as old friends and as if we were their most important clients. It was in fact the staff that catapulted New York Tiffany's into that very special place in my heart and gained my loyalty. At that time I purchased a small Tiffany blue butter cream leather journal and I still continue to hold it and use it with reverence.

On our visit this time we spent most of our time on the third floor which contains the more affordable silver jewelry but this did not stop us from visiting the other floors and having a good perusal of the diamonds, watches and other jewelry. Keeley bought a ring made up of hearts; DIL got the signature Tiffany toggle necklace; BFF got a gold key and I purchased the Tiffany blue heart key to start my intended collection. I told hubby that now that I have my New York Tiffany key the others don't have to come from there and in fact I don't even care if they Tiffany's, only that they are real silver.

We did some further shopping in a designer outlet type store and then wandered down Madison Ave because the road had been blocked off and a street market stretched for blocks and blocks. We meandered and took in the sites, sounds and smells of the variety offered. When we saw the sign Cashmere scarves, 5 for $20.00, we all ran up excitedly to the booth and started grabbing the soft supple neck ware. What great gifts for friends and how generous they would think us for buying them something so luxurious. As I was waiting to hand over my cash, my eye caught one of the labels on the scarves; it read, Softer Than Cashmere, 100% acrylic". I checked the rest of the gifts that we planned to give to friends and all of the glued on labels read 100% Cashmere. I laughed, gave the wrongly labelled piece of cloth to the saleswoman who shrugged, smiled and tucked it behind the counter. She helped me select another scarf with the "right" label and I handed over my dollars.

We didn't do much more shopping after that but we all just shook our heads over the amount of knock-offs and fake label items out there. So I cannot help but feel a little guilty as we give our 100% Cashmere souvenirs to our friends but they don't impress me as label idolizers and I don't think they'll really care what the items are made of. Like us, I believe they are the kind of people who will think more about the fact that we loved them enough in the name of friendship to be crazy enough increase the poundage of our luggage and then have to lug it from out of the apartment, down the elevator, down the stairs onto the street, into the taxi, out of the taxi, through the airport, onto the conveyor belt and then reverse the process when we arrived home.

Salynne ©2009