127 Hours of shopping

I have Claire Bicknell to thank for this latest analysis of the way retailers hook different generations (for which read ‘grumpy old man’s rant against the dying of the light’)

There we were, sitting have a nice coffee in Carluccio’s and talking over Smith Cooper’s plans for world domination (well, a move into the Lace Market anyway) when she reminded me of a Tweet I made after a demoralising experience in Primark. That’s all it took for me to go off on one.

I felt cornered in Primark because I literally couldn’t see the wood for the trees. While my daughters sifted through what seemed to me like a forest of tat-inspired jewellery, I stood there, waffled on about why cheap jewellery is still poor value when it doesn’t last five minutes, and then realised I was completely disorientated. I wanted to dive for the exit, but couldn’t see a way out of the jewellery section.

It reminded me of that scene in the late, lamented Father Ted, where a bunch of Roman Catholic priests get lost in the lingerie section in an Irish department store. Only it wasn’t that furtively interesting.

I did escape eventually, but it was further evidence that blokes of my age (that’s ahem-and-a-bit, since you’re asking), become a tragic cross between a wallet and a spare part when they go shopping with the family.

Now, a part of that is because my idea of ‘shopping’ involves coffee and a book in Waterstones and, er, that’s it. If I’m really feeling sociable I might take in the home technology (read ‘boys’ toys’) department in John Lewis or the wines section pretty much anywhere. But it’s also because I can’t believe the routine lack of anything resembling great service which lies underneath these margins.

Fashion is where I stand and issue a series of utterly futile observations about these retail margins while my daughters smile, nod and just get on with assembling a stylish combo that would never occur to a sartorial car-crash like me.

But it is MY wallet which these combos depend on. This is why I would rather stand in for that bloke in 127 Hours than get dragged into the likes of Jack Wills. Now, any sane person would imagine that if a girl wants a gilet you can get one for a few quid in Decathlon. It’ll have the street cred of horsey overtones, so what’s the problem? The problem is that it hasn’t got Jack Wills plastered all over it, and this massive enhancement to its technical capabilities means that instead of a couple of tenners you can hand over 98 of your English pounds for the privilege of advertising someone else’s brand.

The thing is, as insane as it sounds it is also inevitable.

On some days of the week I drop my eldest daughter off at school and you have only to look at the bags and accessories she and her mates attack the campus with to know that Brand Is Everything. Jack Wills is still well up there, but the rising stars are the likes of Hollister and (if you can get your hands on it) Abercrombie and Fitch. You might occasionally see some Boden or Joules, but that’s clearly stuff your mum bought for you. The horror of it!
Fashion accessories are not just things you wear, either. They are things you text from and listen to. So you’ve got an iPhone? Well, OK, but is it an iPhone 4? The only vaguely credible alternative is a Blackberry. That’s right – a Blackberry. In school. They should read John Lyle’s life without an iPhone.
I probably need to go and have another coffee. Only problem is that if it’s the weekend I’ll probably bump into my daughter’s generation sipping some over-priced smoothie.
So I am going back into my darkened room instead.