Wanna shop like common people? More fool you…
|
Version 0 of 1. John Terry in a pound shop? A photo, taken with a fan, showed the reputed £170k-a-week footballer in Poundworld in Woking, standing in front of a display of Christmas tat, with a bulging basket full of "£20-worth of wrapping paper, and bits and bobs". Perhaps this is not so incongruous. People from all walks of life occasionally pop into pound shops – there is nothing wrong or peculiar about it. Just so long as those who do it aren't subscribing to what could be termed New Slumming. In the 1995 Pulp song Common People, the student who "wants to live like common people" is taken to a run-down supermarket and told to pretend she's got no money: "She just laughed and said: 'You're so funny'/ I said: 'Yeah? Well, I can't see anyone else smiling in here'." In this song, the disparity between the "common people", living in poverty because they have no choice, and Cocker's companion, slumming it for ersatz jollies, is icily unambiguous, with Cocker sneering: "Because you think that poor is cool." What's interesting is that the essence of this clash still seems to crop up on British high streets. Terry's visit to the pound shop might not be the best example (most footballers come from the working class). Arguably, Terry could be commended for keeping it real, as could others who regularly shop at budget stores as a matter of practicality, even some degree of solidarity. This is different to the culture of slumming that sometimes creeps through – just often enough to be grating. Every so often there will be a flurry of reports trilling about how people who wouldn't normally shop at the likes of Lidl, Iceland or Asda are now filling their trolleys at these budget-conscious emporiums. Often there is a sense of amusement and irony about these reports that mirrors the attitude of the shoppers: "Oh get us – shopping in Lidl!" With the economic climate being what it is, of course there will be people who need to alter their shopping habits. However, others seem to court attention, to be almost playing at being poor – just like the student in Common People, but older, and, you'd have thought, wiser. Well, call me old fashioned, but there's something very tacky about the well-off slumming it in an effort to look "dahn with the people". Who cares? Perhaps we all should. The key motifs of slumming appear to be narcissism, disassociation and presumption. When people slum it, there's the sense that only they are real, only they matter, and everything and everyone else are just props and backdrops. Moreover, there's the sense that having dipped their toe in to this kind of world – grabbing, say, a few bargain tins of Quality Street – they now know all there is to know about eking out a small budget, week after week. This kind of self-serving, ultimately meaningless over-identification can be just as true of a character in a pop song as it is of a chancellor of the exchequer whose accent amusingly wavers when he meets workers, but who, not so amusingly, still canes the poor with policies. Most people in budget shops are there because that is all they can afford. Their lives shouldn't be visited as if they were some kind of intriguing new theme park. Nor could anyone presume to know exactly how their lives are, just because they buy the same cut-priced fish-fingers. People who live in poverty are dehumanised enough, their problems trivialised enough, without this new wave of retail-condescension gaining traction. If you've started shopping in Lidl because you need to save money, then it's probably just best to buy your stuff and go home – there's no need to fabricate a whole new subculture out of it, just because it's you, and everything you do is so interesting. There's a lot more to standards of living than where we choose to shop. Almost 20 years ago a song said just that (and more) – some people could do worse than listen to it again. Gandalf and the desolation of a smug Etonian Damian Lewis has offended Sir Ian McKellen by saying that he didn't want to stay in the theatre too long lest he become the kind of fruity actor who ends up playing wizards. McKellen, who plays Gandalf in <em>Lord of the Ring</em>s and <em>The</em> <em>Hobbit</em>, responded that he wouldn't want to be a younger actor, trapped into accepting inferior scripts to keep the money coming in. One-nil to Gandalf, methinks. It's unlikely that Lewis meant to insult McKellen, but honestly – what a smug uncouth thing to say. Once again, an old Etonian displays the urgent need for a crash course in simple good manners. Bad timing too – as <em>Homeland</em> continues to degenerate into a bizarre Middle Eastern <em>EastEnders </em>("Don't bomb them, Brody, they're not worth it!"). It's really not the time for Lewis to be throwing thespian rocks in glasshouses. By contrast, McKellen has enough career experience to know that it's best to stay humble, flexible, and playful – hence the unexpected treat of his <em>Coronation Street</em> stint, for which he will always be cherished chez Ellen. Watch and learn, Damian, old bean – there may come a day when you're begging to be fitted for a pointy hat. Kanye, haven't you a home to go to? Who'd have imagined that Kanye West would be an annoying person to have around? Observing him, the phrase "instant prat – just add fame" would never spring to mind. According to Will Ferrell on The Jonathan Ross Show however, West was a bit of a handful when he was guest starring on <em>Anchorman 2, </em>blasting out his own songs, even when the crew were trying to shoot scenes. Moreover, when West's takes were finished, he wouldn't leave, getting in the way … I mean, hanging out. Tut tut, Kanye. On reflection, I empathise. He succumbed to the oldest social faux pas in the book – that of being The Guest Who Wouldn't Go Home. Even non-superstars are guilty of this – believing it when they are told they are welcome to stay a little longer, ending up sprawled on the sofa until 5am, talking about their childhood and every appalling relationship they've ever had, while drinking dusty bottles of tequila from the back of the cupboard, only to finally be kicked out – their fingers prised from the front door frame one by one – by the guests who've been called back to help get rid of them, at which point it's discovered that they've been using the host's slippers as ashtrays all evening. Not that I ever was this person, or that such heartrending anecdotes will one day be recounted in full in my searing memoir <em>Girl Incapacitated</em>. I'm admitting nothing. Saying that, some of us feel a twinge of kinship with West. Regular Guests Who Won't Go Home end up slumped on sofas, licking the inside of Kettle Chips packets. Evidently the A-list version is to be hired for a bit of film work and then stay for so long even the super-cool <em>Anchorman</em> ensemble cast start gritting their teeth, and asking Steve Carell to have a "quiet word". Time to learn how to leave with dignity, Kanye. We all had to. Our editors' picks for the day's top news and commentary delivered to your inbox each morning. |