It seems to me that there has been a whole lot of branding going on recently. In the midst of the presidential primaries, as American citizens, we are being asked to define ourselves, to associate our persons with one label or another. Democrat, Republican, Clinton, Huckabee, Obama, Giuliani…
I opened up my mail-in ballot this week and considered for a while the eight candidates whose names were typed in alphabetical order. “Vote for One” read the minimal instructions. So there I had it: One choice, one alignment. It seemed odd to me that, as a member of a consumerist culture so geared toward ostentatious labels and luxury, I should feel such hesitation at sequestering myself into one category, a selection that I could keep secret, no less.
When I was younger, my mother kept stacks of old Vogue magazines all around the house, and around the same age that I learned to read, I started eagerly poring over them, running my fingers over the long foreign names as I tried to pronounce them under my breath. Yves Saint Laurent, Rochas, Balenciaga, Givenchy. Names, which, just by their very nature, conjured power, style and influence.
To be fair, left to my own devices, I discovered a vast number of inappropriate cultural influences as a child — reading Bridget Jones’ Diary at the age of nine probably was not a great idea either. But nevertheless, I mastered at a very early point the ability to recognize fashion brands from 20 feet away. It is somewhat of a futile skill, one that will definitely not get me into grad school, but talent is talent, and I do not think that I am much different than anyone else.
Remember circa 2002 when it was the height of awesome to have the words “Abercrombie and Fitch” plastered over every available square inch of your clothing? And then came the Lacoste alligator and the Louis Vuitton monogramming (faux or real). At this stage, any Georgetown student worth her GOCard can probably identify a Tory Burch flat from across Red Square, whether or not she even wants to.
We have been influenced from a very young age to recognize symbols and to assign value to them. The sight of a little turquoise box under a Christmas tree means that you have been very good this year, and for the well-versed of us, a little orange box means you have been even better. I’ve even heard that scientists even did a study once proving that the sight of a pink bakery box activates salivary glands more than any other color of box. (Seriously, I learned that in eighth grade.) We are visual, independent people, and we tend to define ourselves by the labels we like to wear, whether Adidas or Armani.
The problem arises, however, when one correlates buying brands with having real style and taste. A full Juicy Couture velour suit does not a cool outfit make. And if a top makes you look like a baby hippopotamus, you should not wear it just because Marc Jacobs made it.
“By branding ourselves, we are preparing ourselves,” T.S. Eliot said, “to meet the faces that we meet, and our persona, like our political system, is always a work in progress.” We must choose wisely, making decisions that are fundamentally individual and perhaps even chic.
So in the spirit of self-identity, I guess I will come right out and say it: I am a Democrat, and I like just about everything Karl Lagerfeld touches. God bless America.
Caroline Smith is a sophomore in the College. She can be reached at smith@thehoya.com. The Hoya Wears Prada appears every other Friday in The Guide.