In our consumption culture, buying and not buying are becoming preferred modes of activism. Isn't it easier, after all, to boycott labor-abusing Wal-Mart than to lobby for a national living wage? Anti-Bush groups tried - and failed - to organize a zero-consumption day to coincide with the president's second inauguration, hoping that pro-democracy masses would terrify Wall Street and send stock prices raining down on Bush's parade. Although this endeavor didn't come to fruition, it does seem that a subculture of affluent consumers is increasingly willing to make market choices that reflect its humanist values. From socially conscious mutual funds to Chipotle, a new chain of all-organic Mexican fast-food restaurants (McDonald's is the majority share-holder), it seems we want more than just a product in exchange for our money: We want good karma.
The poster child for this trend is American Apparel, a hipper-than-thou California-based clothing manufacturer that brags on its Web site, "We are trying to rediscover the essence of classic products like the basic T-shirt, once an icon of Western culture and freedom. Our goal is to make garments that people love to wear without having to rely on cheap labor. ... American Apparel sees all of its employees as long-term investments." Despite reports that American Apparel stifled a unionization movement among its workers, the company is undeniably more responsible than the average manufacturer. All its garments are made in a Los Angeles factory where the average wage is $12.50 per hour. The lowest wage is $8.00 per hour.
Curious to check out American Apparel and attracted to its simple-chic image, I recently visited its store at 64th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan. The décor was modernist white and silver; the patternless, 100 percent cotton, made-in-America clothing was folded neatly in little Lucite drawers. Everything seemed scrubbed clean. Then I looked up. On a television mounted in the corner, a film was playing. On the screen, groups of brown-skinned factory workers described, in accented English, the benefits of American Apparel employment. They said things like "this is a community" and "we feel our work is valued."
Something seemed off. I knew social responsibility was American Apparel's marketing shtick, but doesn't videotape of smiling, immigrant workers take things just a bit too far? Was this exploitative, or was I just unwilling, as a consumer, to be forced to look into the eyes of the people who sewed the fabric I was fingering? It's hard to enjoy your social justice karma when utterly creeped out. Later, when I went to the American Apparel Web site, I saw I could download free "behind the scenes footage" of the "Girls of American Apparel" calendar photo shoot. The footage featured quirkily beautiful models during their costume changes, shielding their breasts with nothing but a few fingers. The clincher of the calendar's sales pitch? The models' images were "never retouched." How authentic.
Like the Republican-funding marketing geniuses behind the faux-vintage clothing chain Urban Outfitters, American Apparel founder Dov Charney has tapped into the fundamental, yet unarticulated, aesthetic sensibility of a segment of our generation. We want simple clothes in soft fabrics that hang just right. We want asymmetrical lines and patchwork patterns to show off our inner bohemian. We want to look effortless, but authentic, "never retouched." Personally, I put my money down at American Apparel because the bras didn't have any annoying clasps or frilly accoutrements, but were still cut with a sexy, plunging V. As for the living wage thing: That felt good, but ultimately had little to do with my desire for something new to wear under my favorite sweater.
Charney agrees with me about American Apparel's style-before-substance priorities. In a Los Angeles Business Journal interview last May, he claimed he was tiring of the laudatory press frenzy surrounding his company's labor practices. "I think it is a secondary appeal and I'm getting a little bored with it myself," Charney pooh-poohed. "It's too P.C. It's like, big deal. I'm de-emphasizing it."
But what about that videotape I saw? It's been almost a year since Charney gave that interview, and American Apparel's marketing strategy certainly has not changed. Could the tape's creepiness actually be a good thing? I've never worked in a factory and I never will. Nobody I know works in a factory. I'm vaguely aware that the mass-produced clothing I wear is made by poor people in factories. But thoughts about that are uncomfortable and awkward, perhaps because they force me to confront the disparity between my political ideology of justice and my economic priority of consumption at reasonable - and preferably even "bargain" - prices.
During the presidential election, we heard a lot about the "off-shoring" of U.S. jobs and the financial hardships endured by even dual-income families. Americans of all classes seem to be worried about the justice of our market-driven economic system - hence the legs of John Edwards' "two Americas" oratory. Right now, only one America can afford to shop at Whole Foods and American Apparel - upper-middle class consumers are able to pay a premium of a few dollars in pursuit of that social justice karma. And there is no doubt that chains like American Apparel are offering needy people decent employment. But in the long run, organic foods, minimum wages and clever marketing won't solve our essential dilemma. How will America satisfy both its consumerism and its core conscience?
It won't be as easy as buying bras.
Dana Goldstein '06 is 100 percent authentic, never retouched.
