Outrage as a USP
SOCIETY. BUSINESS. A sorry saga of Balenciaga
My neighbour was worried about her grandson. She’s now topped 80 and he’s in his mid-30s and – so she says – has certain odd habits. “Oh, yes?” I inquired, not wanting to seem too curious and ready to shut my ears if things got too graphic. Turns out, her daughter had been in his room and discovered no fewer than 40 – FORTY (my ears prepared to close) – pairs of sneakers. I gulped. “My!” I exclaimed. “Forty? Well, well, well!”
The chat over the hedge completed, I took my leave and sauntered nonchalantly into the house where, once safely ensconced within its walls, I hurried, if not quite hared, up the stairs to my own boudoir, whereupon I carefully counted my own collection of, er, sports footwear. And, what a relief! To discover that, well within the bounds of propriety and decency, I had amassed over the many years (twice as many, it must be said, as the youngster in question) a total of 30 – t‑h‑i‑r‑t‑y – pairs of sneakers. The oldest of them were purchased in Blackpool in 1986, but they adorn the rack to this day, their soles still being firmly attached to their uppers. Hi-Techs, a company long since fallen by the wayside – probably worth a bob or two if I only knew what market to purvey them upon. Who knows – they could even fetch … £645.
Six hundred and forty-five pounds is the princely sum that one would have recently needed to part with in order to acquire a knackered old pair of Adidas shoes from fashion house Balenciaga. It seems a lot of dosh for very little shoe and indeed it is, although I have had to pick myself up off the floor at seeing the prices asked on E-bay for some “exclusive” models of sneaker-wear advertised there at upward of €4,000. Yes, but the €4,000 asking price is being asked for far more than just a shoe (or two): it’s the exclusivity that you’re paying for; the one-of-a-kindness, kind-of; the I’m-where-it’s-at-edness, if you know where I’m coming from; in short, two shoes and a large dollop of pizzazz.
And that, like as not, is what the proud owners of Balenciaga’s worn-out sports shoes will also have purchased. But surely, much more than that; most surely, most assuredly. Balenciaga is a fashion house but, and here the question really resounds without yet having a true answer, is it a fashion house that is in fashion?
I read with astounded eyes reports that this fashion house associates with some of the most controversial characters in the world of fashion generally and subscribes to campaigns that incite outrage among upstanding, free-thinking, morally bound individuals. Its apologies, for mimicking the plight of Ukrainian refugees, for depicting small children carrying revolting mannequins of teddy bears dolled up in S&M gear and inexplicably depicting legal papers that apparently describe court proceedings on charges of child abuse – for whatever reason that might have ever been deemed appropriate to the promotion of clothing – seem to be well meant and forthright. Just as forthright, so it would seem, as the blatant attempts by the firm’s management to achieve some kind of normalisation of dark desires that would lurk within the management’s own souls and, what’s more, within those, such as they are, of the firm’s customer base. Well, to each his own, though I wouldn’t be rushin’ to buy their stuff and nonsense.
I recently delved into the “merch” world to discover that there are exquisitely produced merchandise items to be had proclaiming one’s sympathies for the Oath Keepers and there is no doubt official merch to be had of just about any criminal organisation that you might want to name. My mother once raged at my brother for purchasing – with good pocket-money – a wife-beater bearing, in stencilled letters, the word “Alcatraz”, and that was simply a prison where they sent bad guys. As a matter of fact, I am to this day the owner of a fridge magnet bearing that name, which was acquired during a boat excursion to the island back in 1985, when visits to the national park it comprises were still possible. It’s a souvenir of a day-trip on San Francisco Bay, not a pledge of allegiance to Al Capone or the Birdman.
My fridge magnet is now adhered to the oven, ironically enough, and my brother’s athletic top will long since be history. In my parents’ time, associating oneself to the last post before hell was not deemed to be fitting, and certainly far from normal. And now associating oneself to a fashion house that, down the cat walk, parades the likes of antisemitic sowers of hatred, questionable sexual practices and the abuse of children is endeavouring to establish itself as a normality within our society, as is dining with known enemies of free society, as is waging war on free society. Whilst and for so long as our society is indeed free, it behoves us to resist its transformation by stealth and increment into a society by which, in our hearts, we feel repulsed. Yet, as the steady march of normalisation of the outrageous moves forward, just how repulsed are you by such vomit-invoking games of cat-and-mouse affront-and-apology on the world’s commercial and political stages? Responses such as “Oops, I didn’t know it would be offensive” are disingenuous at best; if they’re honestly meant, they’re frightening, to boot.
Meanwhile, talking of boots, if anyone has £645 they’re not doing anything with, I’ll gladly take it for a still worthy pair of well-loved old Hi-Tech Santiagos. On a silver salver, no less.
