Thoughts I had at an everything-must-go sale
My philosophy of impermanence & the discomfort of being stuck between seasons
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The other day I stumbled into a Saks Fifth liquidation sale. It was like Inferno with fluorescent lighting. My Virgil was a skinny mixed-race guy in a pink Miu Miu cardigan and Gianvito Rossi ballerinas that were gonna get tossed next year. Our first circle of hell was La Prairie. I gave in to temptation immediately.
EVERYTHING MUST GO.
At once a commercial imperative and a philosophical cliché. We rarely admit it in polite society, but everything will go—our jobs, our youth, our certainties, our lives. Our dogs and cats will die. We will disappear. And now, urgently, the Ferragamo satchel too.
Liquidation sales always unplug the smoke machine behind luxury goods. The magic trick is over. Veronica Beard marked down then tossed carelessly on a plastic hanger suddenly makes you realize that none of these clothes or shoes are worth the amount they’re asking for. Everything looks cheap. It makes me want to never shop again. It’s freeing, actually. The tyranny of luxury, the anxiety of possessing the “right” things, loses power once its objects are stacked like canned goods.
Some years feel like shedding skin, like liquidating the past so we might begin again, lighter this time, less fooled by the illusion of permanence.
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At some point I get seriously nauseous from the concoction of perfumes and the lighting so I sit down by the shoes and watch two middle-aged women passive-aggressively grab for the last Prada slingback (belated recession indicator), neither wanting to seem too eager.
The security guard was nearby. He had that look like he’s watching a planet go extinct. So, I’m watching this operatic apocalypse, and I think: I LOOOOOVE CONSUMERISM!!!! This is what late-stage capitalism looks like. No revolution, no yelling. Just shoppers taking home this sandal or that scarf, like sharks chomping here and there on the carcass of a floating whale.
EVERYTHING MUST GO: a mantra for the end of the Anthropocene.
The happy ending to my divine comedy was finding the very rare, possibly-discontinued-in-North-America Orange Bitters Cologne by Jo Malone. I was tempted to buy all four remaining 100mL bottles off the shelf, but I felt like I was gonna get karmically punished for greed. The reason I like this cologne so much is that it smells like this one splendid Old Fashioned I had one splendid night made by one splendid bartender (Kirk, if you’re reading this, I hope you’ve been well :D). The best branding for anything is just personal memory.
A lot of things are like that.
You get one taste of it somewhere, and the last best experience you’ve had anywhere becomes your minimum expectation everywhere.