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Smart mannequins: another gimmick in the hateful shopping experience Smart mannequins: another gimmick in the hateful shopping experience
(35 minutes later)
When I was a child, my dad – who could be described as the only situationist in north Wales, and who, the last time I saw him, was wearing a T-shirt with that Nye Bevan quote about Tories being vermin, the words arranged into an attractive rat motif – would often tell me I was “born to shop”. Once, when I asked him for a PlayStation, he told me I was consumer-orientated, and, while a little harsh, he was not wrong.When I was a child, my dad – who could be described as the only situationist in north Wales, and who, the last time I saw him, was wearing a T-shirt with that Nye Bevan quote about Tories being vermin, the words arranged into an attractive rat motif – would often tell me I was “born to shop”. Once, when I asked him for a PlayStation, he told me I was consumer-orientated, and, while a little harsh, he was not wrong.
Growing up in the ruthlessly capitalist 90s, there was always something I wanted: a My Little Pony, a Sticker Factory set, a much lusted-after pebble-polishing machine, or – the holy grail – an unsettling incubus/doll called Make-Up Baby. Bill Bailey wasn’t lying when he described the Argos catalogue as the “laminated book of dreams”. I would spend hours perusing its pages, especially the paddling pools. I wanted everything. I got none of it.Growing up in the ruthlessly capitalist 90s, there was always something I wanted: a My Little Pony, a Sticker Factory set, a much lusted-after pebble-polishing machine, or – the holy grail – an unsettling incubus/doll called Make-Up Baby. Bill Bailey wasn’t lying when he described the Argos catalogue as the “laminated book of dreams”. I would spend hours perusing its pages, especially the paddling pools. I wanted everything. I got none of it.
Which makes it all the more strange that now, as an adult, I loathe shopping with a hatred I otherwise reserve only for golf. Sweet, sweet disgust. It only took one Saturday afternoon to make me realise that hell is not other people, generally. Hell is other people in the Trafford Centre.Which makes it all the more strange that now, as an adult, I loathe shopping with a hatred I otherwise reserve only for golf. Sweet, sweet disgust. It only took one Saturday afternoon to make me realise that hell is not other people, generally. Hell is other people in the Trafford Centre.
I realise that my hatred of shopping means that I am, essentially, a failure as a woman. Advanced capitalism really has no truck with me. I have been to neither of the Westfields, and regard the notion that shopping is somehow a “hobby” that you partake in with your “girlfriends” as one of the great, evil cons of modern life. Which is why the news, if you can call it that, that so-called “smart mannequins” – which “talk” to shoppers via their smartphones – were launched in some stores yesterday, filled me with horror. If these smart mannequins sound to you like an unholy cross between something out of ETA Hoffman’s The Sandman and Teen Talk Barbie (“I love shopping!” “Math is hard!”) then have a seat: you are my people. If you feel that this initiative will, in many ways, enhance your shopping experience, just move along. I realise that my hatred of shopping means that I am, essentially, a failure as a woman. Advanced capitalism really has no need for me. I have been to neither of the Westfields, and regard the notion that shopping is somehow a “hobby” that you partake in with your “girlfriends” as one of the great, evil cons of modern life. Which is why the news, if you can call it that, that so-called “smart mannequins” – which “talk” to shoppers via their smartphones – were launched in some stores yesterday, filled me with horror. If these smart mannequins sound to you like an unholy cross between something out of ETA Hoffman’s The Sandman and Teen Talk Barbie (“I love shopping!” “Math is hard!”) then have a seat: you are my people. If you feel that this initiative will, in many ways, enhance your shopping experience, just move along.
Going into shops is bad enough, without them introducing new gimmicks to sell us stuff. The three-way mirrors in H&M already make for a traumatic experience (it’s you, babe, but even more so!), and earlier this year it was announced that a plus-size store in Uxbridge would have “interactive changing rooms” that would pay inmates compliments as they try on clothes. Because “you go, girl!” and “fierce!” is really what I want to hear when I’m sweatily squeezing into a pair of disco knickers. (Not true. That’s what the robot Tyra Banks I keep at home is for.)Going into shops is bad enough, without them introducing new gimmicks to sell us stuff. The three-way mirrors in H&M already make for a traumatic experience (it’s you, babe, but even more so!), and earlier this year it was announced that a plus-size store in Uxbridge would have “interactive changing rooms” that would pay inmates compliments as they try on clothes. Because “you go, girl!” and “fierce!” is really what I want to hear when I’m sweatily squeezing into a pair of disco knickers. (Not true. That’s what the robot Tyra Banks I keep at home is for.)
And this is all before we even consider the two most terrifying words in the English language: concept store. Especially the ones that pretend to be nightclubs. I have a friend whose job it was to dance on the spot in Abercrombie and Fitch, like a beautiful bear in short shorts being poked by an invisible stick for the minimum wage. Then again, even Abercrombie is not as alarming as M&M’s World, a vortex of evil that no Londoner ever enters but which has achieved the capitalist dream, transcending its mere status of sweet shop, to become an inexplicable tourist attraction. It’s destination shopping.And this is all before we even consider the two most terrifying words in the English language: concept store. Especially the ones that pretend to be nightclubs. I have a friend whose job it was to dance on the spot in Abercrombie and Fitch, like a beautiful bear in short shorts being poked by an invisible stick for the minimum wage. Then again, even Abercrombie is not as alarming as M&M’s World, a vortex of evil that no Londoner ever enters but which has achieved the capitalist dream, transcending its mere status of sweet shop, to become an inexplicable tourist attraction. It’s destination shopping.
I should add that all this doesn’t mean I don’t like buying things (I love fashion, though I am cautious about the ethical provenance of my purchases), I just do it online. My boyfriend once killed himself laughing when he found a list on my computer that included the phrase “butter dish”. I think it confirmed what he had always suspected: that women are alien beings obsessed with useless objects. It is true, I have been bred to purchase. There are only so many times that you can open the pages of Marie Claire to see the words “Obsession: scatter cushions” without thinking “hmmm … scatter cushions. Shall I? I shall.”I should add that all this doesn’t mean I don’t like buying things (I love fashion, though I am cautious about the ethical provenance of my purchases), I just do it online. My boyfriend once killed himself laughing when he found a list on my computer that included the phrase “butter dish”. I think it confirmed what he had always suspected: that women are alien beings obsessed with useless objects. It is true, I have been bred to purchase. There are only so many times that you can open the pages of Marie Claire to see the words “Obsession: scatter cushions” without thinking “hmmm … scatter cushions. Shall I? I shall.”
The modern woman has so many problems to fix: emotional cellulite, bacne, cankles, camel toe, bacteria in the toilet bowl of which only 99% can be eradicated. Soon there will automated text messages sent straight to our all-seeing, extrasensory phones: “We have a product for that hair sprouting from your chin”; “we know how you can fix that smell”; “looking a bit fat today, love”. It’s only a matter of time. Thankfully, my dad is building a bunker.The modern woman has so many problems to fix: emotional cellulite, bacne, cankles, camel toe, bacteria in the toilet bowl of which only 99% can be eradicated. Soon there will automated text messages sent straight to our all-seeing, extrasensory phones: “We have a product for that hair sprouting from your chin”; “we know how you can fix that smell”; “looking a bit fat today, love”. It’s only a matter of time. Thankfully, my dad is building a bunker.