I’m a mild-mannered guy, passionately mild-mannered I should say, as I’m not very demonstrative, rarely boiling, but always at a simmer. And I’m not boiling now, but I am annoyed, vaguely so, and I’m looking for some help to specify my annoyance, or refute it.
This past Saturday night I was at a party and this relatively new store, or boutique, in Philadelphia kept coming up as a topic of conversation. The name of this boutique is Art in the Age, which in its fullness reveals itself as Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Without even getting into what they sell, I have a problem right here, in this place’s very name. I have a problem with books whose titles specifically reference other, more famous, and more than likely better, books; but to find out that a store specifically references a famous essay, an essay that has considerable intellectual hipster (not to say pretentious) cachet, nearly shattered my mild-mannered façade. And this before I even knew what they sell, or the prices they charge!
Though I’m not a shopper, I do appreciate nice stores and stores with well-designed signs and windows, and even attractive interiors (though to enter a store with no intention of shelling out makes me self-conscious); but when I contemplate the actual mercantile nitty-gritty of such stores I get upset. I’m someone who thinks that almost everything is over-priced, and the nature of our economy and its utter reliance on ever-growing personal debt pisses me off. So I like the superficial aspects of nice stores, but loathe their “substance”, and while at the same time acknowledging that to have these superficial aspects there must be inveterate shoppers with more than likely ever-growing debt, I sneer nearly imperceptibly at these shoppers as I’m appreciating the window dressing.
I have never entered the Art in the Age store, but I have visited their website, and, like a store window I can enjoy, their website is well-designed, with just enough intellectualism and restrained hipster artiness dotted between their quiet ploys to extract cash (or credit) from our pockets. And while there are profiles of actual artists and/or artisans, and musicians, on their site, giving one the impression that the store might actually be an art gallery or a soundspace, when I looked further into what they sell what do I find? - $34 t-shirts, $120 scarves, $60 hoodies, $80 ties, $230 backpacks, etc.
Now I understand that these prices are on the low-end of boutique prices, but they’re still over-priced; and this gets me to Benjamin… I realized I had actually never read this essay, as the title itself seemed self-explanatory and sufficient unto itself, so in order not to be just another Benjaminian poseur who spouts out titles without having read the body, someone who is nothing but window dressing with nothing for sale inside, I woke up Sunday and read the essay.
And what, in relation to this store, stood out for me in the essay? His discussion of how taste, i.e. connoisseurship, developed when people became more distanced from the actual means of production. As a kind of compensatory action, to cover up guilt? ignorance? etc? because of their inability to make the things, individuals developed ever more refined tastes in common items. It’s clear how this led to seemingly bustling economies, as scarves went from something you or your grandmother would knit to something simply plucked off a rack at $120 a pop. The foundation of economies are over-priced items. So how does the proprietor of this store reconcile this with his store’s Benjamin references? Sure, these scarves are handmade by artisans, a good thing, but they are purchased by non-artisan connoisseur shoppers who are more than likely going deeper into debt. Strip away the Benjamin references and I can swallow it, however reluctantly, but with them it’s all a marketing house of cards.
Elsewhere in the essay Benjamin comes off as maybe a bit reactionary, especially in his discussion of film, though I loved his idea that in order to compensate for films lack of “aura” the movers and shakers behind the industry created living breathing “stars” who had aura to burn (however sham) to fill in an aesthetic gap and assure the perpetual growth of film as an industry. I don’t accept that films have no aura simply because they are mechanical reproductions. Or is our age so degraded that I can sense an aura in film that isn’t there?
There are plenty of plums to be picked here, juicy little tidbits to artfully display in one’s intellectual window, but also plenty of meat to fully stock the shelves within. And the best thing about it is that it’s inexpensive, ever-renewable, and intellectually nourishing, something real and something useful.