Consumer Whores

I admit it; I'm someone who lusts for labels.   I love a brand name.   I am especially attracted to a high price or a flashy tag.   I dig the bling-bling.   Fast cars, expensive jewelry, clothing; you name it, I am fascinated by it. The sound of "Gucci" or "Porsche" or "Dolce & Gabbana" perks my ears up immediately.   My attention is easily drawn to anything worth charging on a credit card.   I am a modern buyer.   I am the consumer whore.

Okay, so I was not the one to coin that name, but a friend of mine once called me that when I was raving about my new James jeans.   Whether or not the term originated with him, it is understood as someone who will buy something purely for the label that is sewn, glued, or nailed to it.   I had made only that one frivolous purchase, but there are many people out there who are compulsive repeat offenders.

The same day I purchased my James jeans in Neiman Marcus, I saw a mother shopping with her daughter and her daughter's best friend.   As I walked into the fitting room, I saw the mother point to a Juicy sweater and mention to the young ones how it would look so good on them.   She immediately pulled the sweater in every color for them to try on.   She then headed over to the denim racks and asked the girls if they owned a pair of "Seven" jeans.   The friend answered yes, but her daughter answered "only one," so she immediately searched for the smallest size to fit this 10 year old.   What happened to wearing Limited, Too or Gap Kids?   Better yet, why prefer these brand names with the high prices?   What has caused this rise of the "label buyers"?

No matter what age the consumer, the fashion industry has produced an image of high-class glamour.   This image has been carried to the public by advertising.   Personally, I get my desire for Prada, Escada, Louis Vuitton, and even Banana Republic and Ralph Lauren from magazines like Vogue , Glamour , and In Style .   For at least four years, I have followed these magazines religiously.   I started reading the articles recently, but before, I just looked at all the pretty pictures.   The colorful ads, catch phrases, and pictures instill an image of high fashion in a consumer's mind.   Millions of dollars are spent on these ads for products that will cost you, and plenty.  

But in the end, does high fashion always have to equal high prices?   For example, high fashion has been brought to the common man and especially woman by markdown stores like TJMaxx and mass market stores with clothing lines like Target's new Isaac Mizrahi and Mossimo.   Even the corporation that holds claim to Banana Republic has two other clothing franchises, Gap, then below it, Old Navy.   These tiers help bring fashion to the masses on three different economic levels.   Also, Abercrombie and Fitch for "teeny boppers" will soon be joined by an upscale line along with the already existent cheaper Hollister.   These three-level corporations try to make fashion affordable and cover all consumer bases.

But all the ads lead us to believe that these lower-priced fashions are not the real deal.   What triggers in a consumer's mind to believe these ads and yearn for the more expensive product?   It's the allure of being above the average consumer.                      

I fell victim to this mind trick in late August.   I usually buy jeans from Abercrombie or Hollister for around $50.00, but I've always looked up to my sister having high-class Boston fashion.   So before this school year, I was going to splurge on an expensive pair of jeans.   I took a trip to the mall with my mom and a credit card.   We were successful.   I left with James jeans, a new brand to hit Neiman's and the fashion world, costing $147.   I don't want to flaunt the price; I report it only to expose my weakness.   I know they were an unnecessary purchase.   In fact, my Hollister jeans fit my body type better than the James jeans do.   Ironically, after their first wash, they shrunk up to be an inch above my heels.   Now I'm stuck with jeans I paid a fortune for that don't even sit right around my feet.   What's worse is that they aren't anything special, just a few pieces of dark denim, goldenrod stitching, and the usual pockets and zipper.   What did I pay for?  

Some may say that you pay for quality.   More durable denim is one characteristic.   The jeans may also have fancy shaped pockets to distinguish their brand.   On these pockets, there usually is a unique design.   Since the worn look is so hot, some manufacturers of designer jeans hand paint the shading and bleached areas.   But how much better do all these factors make the product?   The hand-drawn shading didn't do anything more to flatter my figure than the machine-pressed shading of the mass-produced Hollister jeans.

Besides these details, is there a considerable difference between LEI and Paris Blues jeans and a pair you would find at Nordstrom's?   They are both made from denim fabric; some are stretchy, and others are tight.   They both have thread holding them together; most threading is blue, gold, or white.   Rivets, buttons, and zippers are all made out of metal or plastic.   If broken down this way, both brand and generic jeans seem to be quite similar.   There is hardly a difference between the label and the generic.   A good portion of the time, the brand means nothing.            

What do brand names want us to believe?   That by buying these expensive jeans or products, we are rising above our peers.   They are feeding us ads and creating a lust for status symbols in our minds.   A good portion of the population longs for these symbols to distinguish themselves in society.   For example, in the New York Times Magazine article "Blue Jean Masterpiece," Rob Walker tells how Levi's created a special art label for one of their classic jeans.   These jeans were almost identical to their non-artistic counterparts.   The people who bought these would be recognized only by the price they paid; no one would know the difference on the street.   But by rising above the masses with these tangible objects, they think they become superior to or better than the rest.   Maybe you turn some heads while driving in your new red sports car, or you attract glances in your stunning new evening gown, but in the end, you are just like the rest of America, flaunting your status symbol.  

Our culture has accepted what the fashion industry and others have thrown at us: the glamour and glitz of high-priced commodities.   Our possessions have become what determine someone's worth.   If you own a generic, you are cast aside with millions of other people.   People fear this and turn to high-priced goods to differentiate themselves.   If the market and consumers weren't so easily manipulated, then I'd hold the advertising at fault.   But in this case, we all just want to consume to ensure our acceptance, and we look to brands to save us.   We are easy.